#AmericanWriters
'Why, Goldenson, you’re looking v… Said Death as, strolling through… He entered that serene assassin’s… And hung his hat and coat upon a n… ‘I think that life in this seclude…
So, in the Sunday papers _you_, D… Damn, all great Englishmen in Eng… I am no Englishman, but in my rea… A rogue shall never rail where her… You are the man, if I mistake you…
Another Irish landlord gone to gr… Slain by the bullets of the tenant… Pray, good agrarians, what wrong r… Such foul redress? Between you an… All Ireland’s parted with an even…
Sweet Auburn! liveliest village o… Where Health and Slander welcome… Whence smiling innocence, its trib… Retires in terror, wounded and dis… Dear lovely bowers of gossip and d…
'Tis the widow of Thomas Blythe, And she goeth upon the spree, And red are cheeks of the bystande… For her acts are light and free. In a seven-ounce costume
FITCH: 'All vices you’ve exhausted, frien… So all the papers say.' PICKERING: ‘Ah, what vile calumnies are penne…
'O father, I saw at the church as… The populace gathered in numbers s… That they couldn’t get in; and the… And they looked as if suffering te… ‘Twas the funeral, child, of a gen…
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
Weep, weep, each loyal partisan, For Buckley, king of hearts; A most accomplished man; a man Of parts-of foreign parts. Long years he ruled with gentle sw…
Here sleeps one of the greatest st… Of jurisprudence. Nature endowed him with the gift Of the juristhrift. All points of law alike he threw
The Widows of Ashur Are loud in their wailing: ‘No longer the ’masher’ Sees Widows of Ashur!' So each is a lasher
When, with the force of a ram that… Straight at the rear elevation of… The foot of Herculean Kilgore-sta… Or carnage unspeakable!-lit like a… Upon the Congressional door with…
The apparel does _not_ proclaim th… Polonius lied like a partisan, And Salomon still would a hero se… If (Heaven dispel the impossible… He stood in a shroud on the hangma…
WITH saintly grace and reverent… She walked among the graves with m… Her every footfall seemed to be A benediction on the dead. The guardian spirit of the place
‘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…