#AmericanWriters
Well, I’ve met her again-at the M… She’d told me to see her no more; It was not a command-a petition; I’d granted it once before. Yes, granted it, hoping she’d writ…
Now o’ nights the ocean breeze Makes the patient flinch, For that zephyr bears a sneeze In every cubic inch. Lo! the lively population
I reckon that ye never knew, That dandy slugger, Tom Carew, He had a touch as light an’ free As that of any honey-bee; But where it lit there wasn’t much
To a hunter from the city, Overtaken by the night, Spake, in tones of tender pity For himself, an aged wight: ‘I have found the world a fountain
Liars for witnesses; for lawyers b… Who lose their tempers to retrieve… Cowards for jurors; and for judge… Who ne’er took up the law, yet lay… Justice denied, authority abused,
Come, gentlemen-your gold. Thanks: welcome to the show. To hear a story told In words you do not know. Now, great Salvini, rise
I dreamed that I was dead. The ye… The world forgot that such a man a… Had ever lived and written: other… Were hailed with homage, in their… Out of my grave a giant beech upgr…
Filled with a zeal to serve my fel… For years I criticised their pros… Pointed out all their blunders of… Their shallowness of thought and f… Damned them up hill and down with…
In Bacon see the culminating prim… Of Anglo-Saxon intellect and crim… He dies and Nature, settling his… Parts his endowments among us, his… To every one a pinch of brain for…
Professor dear, I think it queer That all these good religions ('Twixt you and me, some two or th… Are schemes for plucking pigeons) I mean 'tis strange that every cha…
As in a dream, strange epitaphs I… Inscribed on yet unquarried stone, Where wither flowers yet unstrown The Campo Santo of the time to be…
'I saw your charms in another’s ar… Said a Grecian swain with his blo… 'And he kissed you fair as he held… A willing bird in a serpent’s coil… The maid looked up from the cinctu…
‘What is that, mother?’ ‘The funny man, child. His hands are black, but his heart… ‘May I touch him, mother?’ ‘T were foolishly done:
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?
Dawn heralded the coming sun Fort Douglas was computing The minutes-and the sunrise gun Was manned for his saluting. The gunner at that firearm stood,