Away up above us--in those splendid cloud-cities! With their portals of gold and their turrets so fair, We seem to hear angels a-piping their wonderful ditties, And we long to be there--oh, we long to be there. White Wings! White Wings! Come bear us away, Come bear us away, o’er river, o’er mountain and plain. Oh, bear us away to that land of tall palms and green sassafrasses, And then--oh, then, bear us back here to this wild, sweet, pretty valley again. _IN THE WILD WILD-WOODS TO-DAY_ Away--far away--in the wild wild-woods to-day! Underneath the spreading, cool, green boughs sitting, Nesting birds above us flitting, Seem to sing--seem to say: “Mortals sad, be good, be good--be glad--be gay!” Little hearts full of glee, Happy as happy can be; In the wavy bushes seen, In the tall, tufted tree-tops between, Singing, singing merrily, Singing, singing--seem to say: “Mortals sad, be good, be good--be glad to-day!” _I’LL SING SOME SONGS FOR FAME TO-NIGHT_ Respected fellow traveler, ’tho I can carol like a bird Dame Fame my voice has never heard. Hear, then, congenial tourist, comrade with delight-- I’ll sing some songs for Fame to-night. Fame oft has heard the wail of Sadness; Fame knows the lay of Trouble well, Then I will sing for her the songs of gladness, For her, for her, the tale of Joy I’ll tell. _MAID OF DENVER, ARE YOU CAMPING?_ _He_: “Maid of Denver, are you camping? In my field your mules are tramping. Please, Miss, do not think me rude; ’Tis not my intention to intrude. Just this morn I saw your fire-- Thought I’d step down and inquire.” _She_: “Yes, sir; yes, sir; we are camping; That’s our tent, there, in the willows. Pa and Ma are fishing, I suppose: Too bad, too bad, our team is tramping In your meadow green and wide. But, sir, oh, if you will kindly help me chase them out, sir, My folks, henceforth, no doubt, sir, Will be good enough to keep them tied.” _He_: “Maid of Denver, let them stay--let them stray; They won’t hurt my clover--never, nay. Happy creatures! Watch them race and leap! Romp and roll, wallow in my herd’s grass--lush and deep! Off! ye saucy rogues! Away, away! go frisk and play; (They won’t harm my _trifolium incarnatum_, no, never--never, nay!)” _MAID OF DENVER, TAKE MY ARM_ Maid of Denver, take my arm; Stroll with me, about my farm. Trustier guide you’ll never know. No, no, Maid of Denver, don’t say no! Come, merry lass, come skip with me across the green; Climb up steep heights where foot hath never been. Just back of Frank Mann’s, on the rocks, Watch Massey’s shepherds tend their flocks.