#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Strolling at sunset in my native l… With fruits and flowers thick on e… I crossed a Shadow flung athwart… Emerging on a waste of rock and sa… ‘The apples all are gone from here…
Grief for an absent lover, husband… Is barely felt before it comes to… A score of early consolations serv… To modify its mouth’s dejected cur… But woes of creditors when debtors…
I dreamed that I was poor and sic… Broken in hope and weary of my lif… My ventures all miscarrying-naught… For all my labor in the heat and s… And in my heart some certain thoug…
OM JONESMITH _(loquitur)_: I… The night-a rather clever thing to… How soundly women sleep _(looks at… They’re all alike. The sweetest t… Is woman when she lies with folded…
How blest the land that counts amo… Her sons so many good and wise, To execute great feats of tongue When troubles rise. Behold them mounting every stump,
Hassan Bedreddin, clad in rags, i… Sought the great temple of the liv… The worshippers arose and drove hi… And one in power beat him with a r… ‘Allah,’ he cried, ‘thou seest wha…
‘Who drives fat oxen should himsel… Who sings for nobles, he should no… There’s no _non sequitur_, I thin… And this is logic plain as a, b, c… Now, Hector Stuart, you’re a Sco…
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…
Beauty (they called her) wasn’t a… Of many things in the world afraid… She wasn’t a maid who turned and f… At sight of a mouse, alive or dead… She wasn’t a maid a man could 'sho…
Says England to Germany: 'Africa… Says Germany: ‘Ours, I opine.’ Says Africa: 'Tell me, delectable… What is it that ought to be mine?'
Well, Mr. Kemble, you are called,… A great divine, and I’m a great p… You as a Congregationalist blink Some certain truths that I esteem… And dropp them in the coffers of m…
Charles Main, of Main & Winc… With friendly ear the chit-chat of… Who knows you not, yet knows that… Travel two roads that have a commo… We journey forward through the tim…
For Gladstone’s portrait five tho… Were paid, 't is said, to Sir Joh… I cannot help thinking that such f… Transcended reason’s uttermost bou… For it seems to me uncommonly quee…
What! _you_ whip rascals?-_you_, w… Bears, in its dark, dishonorable f… Enough of prison-birds’ prolific g… To serve a whole eternity of terms… _You_, for whose back the rods and…
Editor Owen, of San Jose, Commonly known as ‘our friend J.J… Weary of scribbling for daily brea… Weary of writing what nobody read, Slept one day at his desk and drea…