#AmericanWriters
So Thomas Edison Never drank his medicine; So Blackstone and Hoyle Refused cod-liver oil; So Sir Thomas Malory
Higgledy piggledy, my black hen, She lays eggs for gentlemen. Gentlemen come every day To count what my black hen doth la… If perchance she lays too many,
There here are words of radical ad… Young man, be a snob. Yes, if you are in search of argum… Why I’ve gottem. Let the personnel managers differ;
Bound to your bookseller, leap to… Deluge your dealer with bakshish a… Lean on the counter and never say… Wodehouse and Wooster are with us… Flourish the fish-slice, your butt…
Isabel met an enormous bear, Isabel, Isabel, didn’t care; The bear was hungry, the bear was… The bear’s big mouth was cruel and… The bear said, Isabel, glad to me…
When I remember bygone days I think how evening follows morn; So many I loved were not yet dead… So many I love were not yet born.
Go hang yourself, you old M.D.! You shall not sneer at me. Pick up your hat and stethoscope, Go wash your mouth with laundry so… I contemplate a joy exquisite
I objurgate the centipede, A bug we do not really need. At sleepy-time he beats a path Straight to the bedroom or the bat… You always wallop where he’s not,
O Duty, Why hast thou not the visage of a… Why displayest thou the countenanc… conscientious organizing spinster That the minute you see her you ar…
I sit in an office at 244 Madison… And say to myself You have a resp… Why then do you fritter away your… If you have a sore throat you can… If you have a sore foot you can ge…
One cantaloupe is ripe and lush, Another’s green, another’s mush. I’d buy a lot more cantaloupe If I possessed a fluoroscope.
This is a song to celebrate banks, Because they are full of money and… you hear is clinks and clanks, Or maybe a sound like the wind in… Which is the rustling of the thous…
Foreigners are people somewhere el… Natives are people at home; If the place you’re at Is your habitat, You’re a foreigner, say in Rome.
How pleasant to sit on the beach, On the beach, on the sand, in the… With ocean galore within reach, And nothing at all to be done! No letters to answer,
Some singers sing of ladies’ eyes, And some of ladies lips, Refined ones praise their ladylike… And course ones hymn their hips. The Oxford Book of English Verse