#AmericanWriters
Wild wanton Luxury lays waste the… With difficulty tilled by Thrift’… Then dies the State!-and, in its… The millionaires, all maggot-like,… Alas! was it for this that Warren…
‘If life were not worth having,’ s… ‘T would have in suicide one pleas… ‘An error,’ said the pessimist, 'y… What’s not worth having cannot be…
I’m a gorgeous golden hero And my trade is taking life. Hear the twittle-twittle-tweero Of my sibillating fife And the rub-a-dub-a-dum
We heard a song-bird trilling 'T was but a night ago. Such rapture he was rilling As only we could know. This morning he is flinging
Dimly apparent, through the gloom Of Market-street’s opaque simoom, A queue of people, parti-sexed, Awaiting the command of ‘Next!’ A sidewalk booth, a dingy sign:
Hassan Bedreddin, clad in rags, i… Sought the great temple of the liv… The worshippers arose and drove hi… And one in power beat him with a r… ‘Allah,’ he cried, ‘thou seest wha…
O Reverend Ravlin, once with soun… You shook the bloody banner of you… Urged all the fiery boycotters afi… And swore you’d rather follow them… Alas, how brief the time, how grea…
Upon this quarter-eagle’s leveled… The Lord’s Prayer, legibly inscri… 'Our Father which’-the pronoun th… And shows the scribe to have addre… 'Which art in Heaven’-an error th…
A Countess (so they tell the tale… Who dwelt of old in Arno’s vale, Where ladies, even of high degree, Know more of love than of A.B.C, Came once with a prodigious bribe
Cheeta Raibama Chunder Sen, The wisest and the best of men, Betook him to the place where sat With folded feet upon a mat Of precious stones beneath a palm,
Your influence, my friend, has gat… To east and west its tides encroac… There’ll be, on all God’s foot-st… No clean spot left for God to set…
So, Beecher’s dead. His was a gre… Great as a giant organ is, whose r… Hold in them all the souls of all… That man has ever taught and never… When on this mighty instrument He…
I’ve sometimes wished that Ingers… To hold his tongue, nor rail again… For when he’s made a point some pi… Like Bartlett of the _Bulletin_ ‘… I brandish no iconoclastic fist,
Oft from a trading-boat I purchas… And shells and corals, brought for… From the fair tropics-paid a Chri… And was content in my fool’s parad… Where never had been heard the wor…
Death-poet Pickering sat at his d… Wrapped in appropriate gloom; His posture was pensive and pictur… Like a raven charming a tomb. Enter a party a-drinking the cup