#AmericanWriters
'YOU know, my friends, with wha… I made a second marriage in my hou… Divorced old barren Reason from m… And took the Daughter of the Vine… So sang the Lord of Poets. In a…
The cur foretells the knell of par… The loafing herd winds slowly o’er… The wise man homewards plods; I o… To fiddle-faddle in a minor key.
Who told Creed Haymond he was wit… Had nothing better in this world t… Could no greased pig’s appeal to h… Kindle his ardor for the friendly… Did no dead dog upon a vacant lot,
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,
Despots effete upon tottering thro… Unsteadily poised upon dead men’s… Walk up! walk up! the circus is fr… And this wonderful spectacle you s… Millions of voters who mostly are…
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…
How well this man unfolded to our… The world’s beliefs of Death and… This man whose own convictions non… Nor if his maze of reason had a cl… Dogmas he wrote for daily bread, b…
The flabby wine-skin of his brain Yields to some pathologic strain, And voids from its unstored abysm The driblet of an aphorism.
Christmas, you tell me, comes but… One place it never comes, and that… Here, in these pages no good wishe… No well-worn greetings tediously r… For Christmas greetings are like…
I know not if it was a dream. I v… A city where the restless multitud… Between the eastern and the wester… Had reared gigantic fabrics, stron… Colossal palaces crowned every hei…
Freedom, as every schoolboy knows, Once shrieked as Kosciusko fell; On every wind, indeed, that blows I hear her yell. She screams whenever monarchs meet…
Two villains of the highest rank Set out one night to rob a bank. They found the building, looked it… Each window noted, tried each door… Scanned carefully the lidded hole
The Day of Judgment spread its gl… O’er continents and seas. The graves cracked open everywhere… Like pods of early peas. Up to the Court of Heaven sped
Upon my desk a single spray, With starry blossoms fraught. I write in many an idle way, Thinking one serious thought. ‘O flowers, a fine Greek name ye…
'Let Glory’s sons manipulate The tiller of the Ship of State. Be mine the humble, useful toil To work the tiller of the soil.'