#AmericanWriters
Though you know it anyhow Listen to me, darling, now, Proving what I need not prove How I know I love you, love. Near and far, near and far,
In spite of her sniffle, Isabel’s chiffle. Some girls with a sniffle Would be weepy and tiffle; They would look awful,
But he went and tried to borrow some money from Ferdinand But Ferdinand said America was a bird in the bush and he’d rather have a berdinand, And he thought, there is no wife like a m...
I test my bath before I sit, And I’m always moved to wondermen… That what chills the finger not a… Is so frigid upon the fundament.
The people upstairs all practise b… Their living room is a bowling all… Their bedroom is full of conducted… Their radio is louder than yours, They celebrate week-ends all the w…
The summer like a rajah dies, And every widowed tree Kindles for Congregationalist eye… An alien suttee.
Praise the spells and bless the ch… I found April in my arms. April golden, April cloudy, Gracious, cruel, tender, rowdy; April soft in flowered languor,
Unwillingly Miranda wakes, Feels the sun with terror, One unwilling step she takes, Shuddering to the mirror. Miranda in Miranda’s sight
One thing that literature would be… Would be a more restricted employm… metaphor. Authors of all races, be they Gre… Can’t seem just to say that anythi…
The solitary huntsman No coat of pink doth wear, But midnight black from cap to spu… Upon his midnight mare. He drones a tuneless jingle
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
Oh, “rorty” was a mid-Victorian w… Which meant “fine, splendid, jolly… And often to me it has reoccurred In moments melancholy. For instance, children, I think i…
One cantaloupe is ripe and lush, Another’s green, another’s mush. I’d buy a lot more cantaloupe If I possessed a fluoroscope.
Celery, raw Develops the jaw, But celery, stewed, Is more quietly chewed.
Master I may be, But not of my fate. Now come the kisses, too many too… Tell me, O Parcae, For fain would I know,