What! photograph in colors? 'Tis… And he who dreams it is not overwi… If colors are vibration they but s… And have no being. But if Tyndall… Why, come, then-photograph my lady…

So, gentle critics, you would have… Not at the guilty, only just at G… Spare the offender and condemn Of… And make life miserable to Preten… 'Whip Vice and Folly-that is sati…

Did I believe the angels soon wou… You, my beloved, to the other shor… And I should never see you any mo… I love you so I know that I shoul… Into dejection utterly, and all

Well, James McMillan Shafter, yo… At least you were when last I kne… And if the people since have made… I did not notice it. I’ve much to… Without endeavoring to follow, thr…

I dreamed I stood upon a hill, an… The godly multitudes walked to and… Beneath, in Sabbath garments fitl… With pious mien, appropriately sad… While all the church bells made a…

So, Governor, you would not serve… Although we’d all agree to pay you… You find it all is vanity and pain One clump of clover in a field of… One grain of pleasure in a peck of…

I drew aside the Future’s veil And saw upon his bier The poet Whitman. Loud the wail And damp the falling tear. 'He’s dead-he is no more!' one cri…

‘Lothario is very low,’ So all the doctors tell. Nay, nay, not _so_-he will be, tho… If ever he get well.

A rat who’d gorged a box of bane And suffered an internal pain, Came from his hole to die (the lab… Required it if the rat were able) And found outside his habitat

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…

When men at candidacy don’t conniv… From that suspicion if their frien… The teeth and nails with which the… Should be exhibited in a museum.

O nonsense, parson-tell me not the… And jubilate who follow your dicta… The good are the unhappiest lot al… I know they are from careful obser… If freedom from the terrors of dam…

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…

O Abner Doble-whose 'catarrhal na… Budd of that ilk might envy-'tis a… Rude thing to say, but it is plain… Your name is to be sneezed at: its… Will 'fill the speaking trump of f…

‘What is that, mother?’ ‘The funny man, child. His hands are black, but his heart… ‘May I touch him, mother?’ ‘T were foolishly done: