#AmericanWriters
‘You acted unwisely,’ I cried, ‘a… By the outcome.’ He calmly eyed m… ‘When choosing the course of my ac… ‘I had not the outcome to guide me…
‘Let John P. Irish rise!’ the ed… As when Creation into being spran… Nature, not clearly understanding,… To make a bird that on the air cou… But naught could baffle the creati…
It was a bruised and battered chap The victim of some dire mishap, Who sat upon a rock and spent His breath in this ungay lament: 'Some wars-I’ve frequent heard of…
High Lord of Liars, Pickering, t… Let meaner mortals bend the subjec… Thine is mendacity’s imperial crow… Alike by genius, action and renown… No man, since words could set a ch…
Says Gerald Massey: ‘When I writ… Of souls of the departed guides my… How strange that poems cumbering o… Penned by immortal parts, have non…
Be pleased, O Lord, to take a peo… That Thine avenging sword has spa… That Thou hast parted from our li… And forced our neighbors’ lips to… Father of Mercies, with a heart c…
I drifted (or I seemed to) in a b… Upon the surface of a shoreless se… Whereon no ship nor anything did f… Save only the frail bark supportin… And that-it was so shadowy-seemed…
Abundant bores afflict this world,… Are bores of magnitude that-come a… They’re always coming, but they ne… Like funeral pageants, as they dro… Their lurid nonsense like a muffle…
Pope-choker Pixley sat in his den A-chewin’ upon his quid. He thought it was Leo Thirteen, a… He bit it intenser, he did. The amber which overflew from the…
O statesmen, what would you be at, With torches, flags and bands? You make me first throw up my hat, And then my hands.
Judge Shafter, you’re an aged man… And learned too, I doubt not, in… And a head white with many a winte… (I wish, however that your heart w… Claims reverence and honor; but th…
Sleep fell upon my senses and I d… Long years had circled since my li… The world was different, and all t… Remote and strange, like noises to… And one great Voice there was; an…
Great poets fire the world with fa… That make a crackling racket, But I’m content with but a whispe… To warm some single jacket.
Why ask me, Gastrogogue, to dine (Unless to praise your rascal wine… Yet never ask some luckless sinner Who needs, as I do not, a dinner?
You say, John Irish, Mr. Taylor… A painted beard. Quite likely tha… And sure 'tis natural you spend yo… On what has been least merciful to… By Taylor’s chin, if I am not mis…