#AmericanWriters
Once I ‘dipt into the future far… And saw-it was not Sandow, nor Jo… The Emancipated Woman, who was we… Here and there for the discovery o… But the sun of Evolution ever ros…
From end to end, thine avenue, Va… Rang with the cries of battle and… Brave lungs were thundering with d… And perspiration smoked along the… Sing, heavenly muse, to ears of mo…
‘I never yet exactly could determi… Just how it is that the judicial e… Is kept so safely from predacious… ‘It is not so, my friend: though i… ’Tis kept in camphor, and you ofte…
As oft it happens in the youth of… That mists obscure the sun’s imper… Who, as he’s mounting to the dome’… Smites and dispels them with a ste… So you the vapors that begirt your…
The King of Scotland, years and y… Convened his courtiers in a gallan… And thus addressed them: 'Gentle sirs, from you Abundant counsel I have had, and…
Hail, peerless Pun! thou last and… Most rare and excellent bequest Of dying idiot to the wit He died of, rat-like, in a pit! Thyself disguised, in many a way
I saw-’t was in a dream, the other… A man whose hair with age was thin… One hundred years had bettered by… And still his step was firm, his e… Before him and about him pressed a…
‘What is that, mother?’ ‘The funny man, child. His hands are black, but his heart… ‘May I touch him, mother?’ ‘T were foolishly done:
Unbeautiful is the Piute! Howe’er bedecked with bravery, His person is unsavory Of soap he’s destitute. He multiplies upon the earth
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…
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…
Your various talents, Goldenson,… Respect: you are a poet and can dr… It is a pity that your gifted hand Should ever have been raised again… If you had drawn no pistol, but a…
Villain, when the word is spoken, And your chains at last are broken When the gibbet’s chilling shade Ceases darkly to enfold you, And the angel who enrolled you
I step from the door with a shiver (This fog is uncommonly cold) And ask myself: What did I give h… The maiden a trifle gone-old, With the head of gray hair that wa…
So, Parson Stebbins, you’ve relea… To say that here, and here, we pre… 'Tis a great thing an editor to sk… And hang his faulty pelt upon a na… (If over-eared, it has, at least,…