#AmericanWriters
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—
Horace: Book I, Ode 19 “Mater sæva Cupidinum” Venus, the cruel mother of The Cupids (symbolising Love), Bids me to muse upon and sigh
“Militis in galea nidum fecere col… PETRONIUS WITH IN the soldier’s helmet se… The nesting dove; Venus and Mars, it seems to me,
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?
The songs of Sherwood Forest Are lilac-sweet and clear; The virile rhymes of merrier times Sound fair upon mine ear. Sweet is their sylvan cadence
Horace: Book III, Ode 9 “Donec eram gratus tibi—” HORACE, PVT.—TH INFANTR… While I was fussing you at home You put the notion in my dome
The terrible things that the Gove… Of Kansas says alarm me; And yet somehow we won the war In spite of the Regular Army. The things they say of the old N.…
Up goes the price of our bread— Up goes the cost of our caking! People must ever be fed; Bakers must ever be baking. So, though our nerves may be quaki…
“C’est distingue,” says Madame La… ’Tis a fabric of subtle distinctio… For street wear it is superb. The chic of the Rue de la Paix— The style of Fifth Avenue—
INSPIRED BY READING M… PRINTED IN THE NEW YOR… Though earnest and industrious, I still am unillustrious; No papers empty purses
(There is said to be a steady dema… in England. There are readers who… sedative for tired nerves; there a… Trollope’s quiet humour. Some peo… James’s tangled syntax the restful…
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.
“Gentle Jane was as good as gold,… To borrow a line from Mr. Gilbert… She hated War with a hate untold, She was a pacifistic filbert. If you said “Perhaps”—she’d leave…
‘Scorn not the sonnet.’ Well, I r… I would not scorn a rondeau, villa… Ballade, sestina, triolet, rondel, Or e’en a quatrain, humble and for… An so it made my Pegasus to trot
(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…