#AmericanWriters
They brought to me his mangled cor… And I feared lest I should swing. “O tell me, tell me,—and make it b… Why hast thou done this thing? ”Had this man robbed the starving…
All stark and cold the merchant la… All cold and stark lay he. And who hath killed the fair merch… Now tell the truth to me. Oh, I have killed this fair merch…
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,
Tell me not, in doctored numbers, Life is but a name for work! For the labour that encumbers Me I wish that I could shirk. Life is phony! Life is rotten!
Shall I, lying in a grot, Die because the day is hot? Or declare I can’t endure Such a torrid temperature? Be it hotter than the flames
AFTER HENLEY Where are the wheezes they essayed And where the smiles they made to… Where’s Caron’s seltzer siphon la… A squirt from which laid Herbert…
The rich man has his motor-car, His country and his town estate. He smokes a fifty-cent cigar And jeers at Fate. He frivols through the livelong da…
How narrow his vision, how cribbed… How prejudiced all of his views! How hard is the shell of his bigot… How difficult he to excuse! His face should be slapped and his…
“Militis in galea nidum fecere col… PETRONIUS WITH IN the soldier’s helmet se… The nesting dove; Venus and Mars, it seems to me,
There was a man in our town who ha… He gave away his millions to the c… And people cried: “The hypocrite!… The ones who really need him are t… When Andrew Croesus built a home…
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;
(An Apartmental Ditty.) Mine be a flat beside the Hill; A vendor’s cry shall soothe my ear A landlord shall present his bill At least a dozen times a year.
I thought that I was wholly free, That I had Love upon the shelf; “Hereafter,” I declared in glee, “I’ll have my evenings to myself.” How can such mortal beauty live?
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
Horace: Book I, Ode 2 “Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, qu… AD LEUCONOEN Look not, Leuconoë, into the fut… Seek not to find what the answer m…