#Americans #Suicide #XIXCentury #XXCentury
When Bryan speaks, the town’s a h… From miles around, the autos drive… The sparrow chirps. The rooster c… The place is kicking and alive. When Bryan speaks, the bunting gl…
WRITTEN FOR LORADO… To be given in the manner of th… Hawk of the Rocks, Yours is our cause to-day. Watching your foes
Though better men may fear that tr… I meet you, lady, on the Judgment… With golden hope my spirit still a… Our God who made you all so fair… Is three times gentle, and before…
Think not that incense-smoke has h… My friends, the incense-time has b… Creed upon creed, cult upon cult s… Shrine after shrine grow gray bene… And mountain-boulders in our aged…
Last night at black midnight I wo… The windows were shaking, there wa… The floor was a-tremble, the door… White fires, crimson fires, shone… I rushed to the door yard. The ci…
He coveted her portrait. He toiled as she grew gay. She loved to see him labor In that devoted way. And in the end it pleased her,
The moon is now an opening flower, The sky a cliff of blue. The moon is now a silver rose; Her pollen is the dew. Her pollen is the mist that swings
Would that the lying rulers of the… Were brought to block for tyrannie… Would that the sword of Cromwell… The sword of Joshua and Gideon, Hewed hip and thigh the hosts of…
St. Francis, Buddha, Tolstoi, an… Friends, if you four, as pilgrims,… Returned, the hate of earth once m… And walked upon the water and the… If you, with words celestial, stop…
This is the sin against the Holy… To speak of bloody power as right… And call on God to guard each vil… And for such chiefs, turn men to w… To go forth killing in White Merc…
’Tis a moonlight night in the spring of the year.” In Which, contrary to Artistic Custom, the moral of the piece is placed before the reader. (From the first Khandaka of the M...
In this, the City of my Disconten… Sometimes there comes a whisper fr… “Romance, Romance—is here. No Hi… Is quite so strange. No Citadel o… By Sinbad found, held half such l…
I. THE DOLL UPON TH… This doll upon the topmost bough, This playmate-gift, in Christmas… Was taken down and brought to me One sleety night most comfortless.
Once I loved a spider When I was born a fly, A velvet-footed spider With a gown of rainbow-dye. She ate my wings and gloated.
I saw wild domes and bowers And smoking incense towers And mad exotic flowers In Illinois. Where ragged ditches ran