#AmericanWriters
I observe: “Our sentimental frien… Or possibly (fantastic, I confess… It may be Prester John’s balloon Or an old battered lantern hung al… To light poor travellers to their…
THEY are rattling breakfast plat… And along the trampled edges of th… I am aware of the damp souls of ho… Sprouting despondently at area gat… The brown waves of fog toss up to…
Along the city streets It is still high tide, Yet the garrulous waves of life Shrink and divide With a thousand incidents
Twelve o’clock. Along the reaches of the street Held in a lunar synthesis, Whispering lunar incantations Dissolve the floors of memory
Macavity’s a Mystery Cat: he’s ca… For he’s the master criminal who c… He’s the bafflement of Scotland Y… For when they reach the scene of c… Macavity, Macavity, there’s no on…
Le garçon délabré qui n’a rien à f… Que de se gratter les doigts et se… ‘Dans mon pays il fera temps plu… Du vent, du grand soleil, et de… C’est ce qu’on appelle le jour d…
In my beginning is my end. In suc… Houses rise and fall, crumble, are… Are removed, destroyed, restored,… Is an open field, or a factory, or… Old stone to new building, old tim…
Similiter et omnes revereantur Di… mandatum Jesu Christi; et Ep… Christum, existentem filium… autem, ut concilium Dei et co… Apostolorum. Sine his Eccles…
The Rum Tum Tugger is a Curious… If you offer him pheasant he would… If you put him in a house he would… If you put him in a flat then he’d… If you set him on a mouse then he…
Mungojerrie and Rumpelteazer were… of cats. As knockabout clown, quick-change… walkers and acrobats They had extensive reputation. Th…
Miss Nancy Ellicott Strode across the hills and broke… Rode across the hills and broke th… The barren New England hills — Riding to hounds
Greater Light, we praise Thee for… The eastern light our spires touch… The light that slants upon our wes… The twilight over stagnant pools a… Moon light and star light, owl and…
Miss Helen Slingsby was my maiden… And lived in a small house near a… Cared for by servants to the numbe… Now when she died there was silenc… And silence at her end of the stre…
The readers of the Boston Evening… Sway in the wind like a field of r… When evening quickens faintly in t… Wakening the appetites of life in… And to others bringing the Boston…
The winter evening settles down With smell of steaks in passageway… Six o’clock. The burnt-out ends of smoky days. And now a gusty shower wraps