#Americans #Suicide #XIXCentury #XXCentury
MOVING-PICTURE ACTRESS (On hearing she was leaving the… Mary Pickford, doll divine, Year by year, and every day At the movmg-picture play,
No man should stand before the moo… To make sweet song thereon, With dandified importance, His sense of humor gone. Nay, let us don the motley cap,
I. THE VOICE OF THE… We find your soft Utopias as whit… As new-cut bread, and dull as life… O, scribes who dare forget how wil… How human breasts adore alarum bel…
We are the smirched. Queen Honor… We slept thro’ wars where Honor c… We were faint-hearted. Honor was… We kept a silence Honor could not… Yet this late day we make a song t…
[Supposed to be chanted to some… Chant we the story now Tho’ in a house we sleep; Tho’ by a hearth of coals Vigil to-night we keep.
Upon her breast her hands and hair Were tangled all together. The moon of June forbade me not— The golden night time weather In balmy sighs commanded me
This poem is intended as a description of a sort of Blashfield mural painting on the sky. To be sung to the tune of Yankee Doodle, yet in a slower, more orotund fashion. It is presum...
“Tell me, where do ghosts in love Find their bridal veils?” “If you and I were ghosts in love We’d climb the cliffs of Mystery, Above the sea of Wails.
(A song to be syncopated as you pl… Black cats, grey cats, green cats… Chasing the deacon who stole the c… He runs and tumbles, he tumbles an… He sees big white men with dogs an…
On the road to nowhere What wild oats did you sow When you left your father’s house With your cheeks aglow? Eyes so strained and eager
Would that such hills and cities r… Such vistas of the actual earth an… As kindled Titian when his life b… Would that this latter Greek coul… Wisdom and splendor in our brushes…
[Concerning Edgar Allan Poe]<… Who now will praise the Wizard in… With loyal songs, with humors grav… This Jingle-man, of strolling pla… Whom holy folk have hurried by in…
Oh, once I walked a garden In dreams. ’Twas yellow grass. And many orange-trees grew there In sand as white as glass. The curving, wide wall-border
Sleep softly... eagle forgotten...… Time has its way with you there, a… “We have buried him now,” thought… They made a brave show of their mo… They had snarled at you, barked at…
They say one king is mad. Perhaps… They say one king is doddering and… They say one king is slack and sic… A puppet for hid strings that twit… Is Europe then to be their sprawl…