#AmericanWriters
’Twas on the shores that round our… From Deal to Newport lie That I roused from sleep in a hud… An elderly wealthy guy. His hair was graying, his hair was…
The burden of hard hitting. Slug… Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus… Else fandom shouteth: “Who said y… Back to the jasper league, you min… Swat, hit, connect, line out, goet…
(March 4, 1913) Thine aid, O Muse, I consciously… I crave thy succour, ask for thine… That men may cry: “Some little od… O Muse, grant me the strength to…
Horace: Book III, Ode 15 “Uxor pauperis Ibyci, Tandem nequiti4ae2 fige modum tu4a… IN CHLORIN Dear Mrs. Ibycus, accept a little…
Never mind the slippery wet street… The tire with a thousand claws wil… Stop as quickly as you will— Those thousand claws grip the road… Turn as sharply as you will—
When you came you were like red wi… And the taste of you burnt my mout… Now you are like morning bread— Smooth and pleasant, I hardly taste you at all, for I…
(Who hitches laundering articles t… string and pastes them on the pane… Lady, thou that livest Just across the way, If a hang thou givest
I rise and applaud, in the patriot… Whenever (as often) I hear The palpitanat strains of “The St… I shout and cheer. And also, to show my unbound devot…
The Passionate Householder to his… Come, live with us and be our cook… And we will all the whimsies brook That German, Irish, Swede, and S… And all the dear domestics have.
Curly locks, Curly Locks, wilt th… Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor ye… But stand in the kitchen and cook… And ride every night in an automob… Curly Locks, Curly Locks, come t…
For something like eleven summers I’ve written things that aimed to… Our careless mealy-mouthéd mummers To be more sedulous of speech. So sloppy of articulation
What time I read your mighty line… O Mr. Q. Horatius Flaccus, In praise of many an ancient wine— You twanged a wickid lyric to Bac… I wondered, like a Yankee hick,
[And here is a suggestion: Did you ever try dictating your stories or articles to the dictaphone for the first draft? I would be glad to have you come down and make the experiment.—From...
Ah, Myrtilla mine, you said– And your tone was earnest, very– You would never deck your head With this vernal millinery. Myrt, to mince no words, you lied;
Writers of baseball, attention! When you’re again on the job– When, in your rage for invention, You with the language play hob– Most of your dope we will pardon,