#AmericanWriters
Bustopher Jones is not skin and b… In fact, he’s remarkably fat. He doesn’t haunt pubs—he has eight… For he’s the St. James’s Street… He’s the Cat we all greet as he w…
Miss Nancy Ellicott Strode across the hills and broke… Rode across the hills and broke th… The barren New England hills — Riding to hounds
WHEN Mr. Apollinax visited the… His laughter tinkled among the tea… I thought of Fragilion, that shy… And of Priapus in the shrubbery Gaping at the lady in the swing.
April is the cruellest month, bree… Lilacs out of the dead land, mixin… Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. Winter kept us warm, covering
As she laughed I was aware of bec… in her laughter and being part of… teeth were only accidental stars w… for squad-drill. I was drawn in by… inhaled at each momentary recovery…
There, where trees flower, and springs flow, for there is nothing again Consequently I rejoice, having to construct something These matters that with myself I too much discuss Pray f...
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…
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…
En l’an trentiesme do mon aage Que toutes mes hontes j’ay beu… Pipit sate upright in her chair Some distance from where I w… Views of the Oxford Colleges
And the trees about me, Let them be dry and leafless… Groan with continual surges;… Make all a desolation. Look… Paint me a cavernous waste shore
Among the smoke and fog of a Dece… You have the scene arrange itself… With “I have saved this afternoon… And four wax candles in the darken… Four rings of light upon the ceili…
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…
Gus is the Cat at the Theatre Do… His name, as I ought to have told… Is really Asparagus. That’s such… To pronounce, that we usually call… His coat’s very shabby, he’s thin…
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
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…