Samuel Alfred Beadle
Biography of Samuel Alfred Beadle
Samuel Alfred Beadle (born August 17, 1857, in Atlanta, Georgia, died 1932, in Chicago, Illinois) was an American poet and writer. After the Civil War, Beadle moved to Jackson, Mississippi, where he studied law and began the practice of law.
Samuel Alfred Beadle's Works:
* Sketches from Life in Dixie (Chicago: Scroll Publishing and Literary Syndicate, 1899)
* Lyrics of "The Underworld" (Jackson, Mississippi: W.A. Scott, 1912)
Samuel Alfred Beadle Poems
The Southern Girl
The fairest thing on land or sea Is the Southern girl, to me. You should see her when the stars
Sonnets To My Love
I stood, when life was full of buoyant hope, At sunrise, in the vanished years now flown, With my mother, on that piece of earth that's known
I sought her in the woodland Where the dogwood blossoms blow, And thought I had her cornered Where the little rill doth flow,
My Suburban Girl
I know a sweet suburban girl, She's witty, bright and brief; With dimples in her cheeks; and pearl In rubies set, for teeth.
Oh! have you heard the boastful song Of Highland-Buckingham; Who often in their zeal go wrong, And never care a damn.
I'd roamed around by no ties bound, But fancy's vain and fickle will; Squandered my youth and trampled truth, Beneath my wayward feet, until
For A Woman
Eden, lost to all but fancy, Was it ever aught but legend Handed down from sire to son, As descriptive of the region,
Last night I lay dozing When in there came, And sat beside me, posing,
Come, tripping, tripping, tripping, oh, On the light fantastic toe; And we'll tread the royal measure, Down the aisles of wit and pleasure,
Many and many a merry day, Under the oak tree's shade, We children tripped it out to play, Happy, blithe and gay;
I saw sweep out of the unknown A worthy sunlit bark, alone, By eddies dallied and then thrown
Once a wee bit baby darling, Pure as beauty, sweet as grace, Sat upon my knee and thrilled me With her rare bewitching face;
Tomorrow 's but a dream, dear Alice, In truth, it never appears; The past, a tenantless old palace,
I would not live always: I ask but to stay' In this vain world of shadows Just another day;
My Country Thou dearer and grander than all other earth,
With clime sweet and balmy, fair land of my birth;
May valiant thy youth grow, more stalwart, more brave,
Till ne’er a poor laggard, nor coward, nor slave
Is seen in thy valleys, nor met on thy hills,
Where babbles the brook, or the bright dew distills.
Oh, Country of mine! May thy humblest son be
Ever true to thy genius, 'brave, happy and free.'