#AmericanWriters
Thus the poor ass whose appetite h… Known than the thistle any sweeter… Thinks all the world eats thistles… The wit and Mentor of the country… Grins through the collar of a hors…
Saint Peter at the gate of Heaven… The tools and terrors of his awful… The key, the frown as pitiless as… That slays intending trespassers a… And, at his side in easy reach, th…
‘What are those, father?’ ‘States… Lacrymose, unparliamentary, wild.’ ‘What are they that way for, fathe… ’Our candidate’s better,' they sai… ‘What did they say he was, father?…
‘The world is dull,’ I cried in m… ‘Its myths and fables are no longe… ’Roll back thy centuries, O Fathe… To Greece transport me in her gol… 'Give back the beautiful old Gods…
Of Hans Pietro Shanahan (Who was a most ingenious man) The Muse of History records That he’d get drunk as twenty lord… He’d get so truly drunk that men
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…
I stood upon a hill. The setting… Was crimson with a curse and a por… And scarce his angry ray lit up th… That lay below, whose lurid gloom… Freaked with a moving mist, which,…
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
What! Pixley, must I hear you cal… Of all the vices that infest your… Was’t not enough that lately you d… Your money-worship in the ears of… Still must you crack your brazen c…
‘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…
I’d long been dead, but I returne… Some small affairs posterity was m… A mess of, and I came to see that… Received its dues. I’d hardly fin… The grave-mould still upon me, whe…
Old Nick from his place of last r… Came up and looked the world over. He saw how the grass of the good w… And the wicked lived in clover. And he gravely said: ‘This is all…
A cook adorned with paper cap, Or waiter with a tray, May be a worthy kind of chap In his way, But when we want one for Recorder…
Swains and maidens, young and old, You to me this tale have told. Where the squalid town of Dae Irks the comfortable sea, Spreading webs to gather fish,
O very remarkable mortal, What food is engaging your jaws And staining with amber their port… 'It’s ‘baccy I chaws.’ And why do you sway in your walkin…