#Americans #Suicide #XIXCentury #XXCentury
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 North Star whispers: “You ar… Of those whose course no chance ca… You blunder, but are not undone, Your spirit-task is fixed and stra… ”When here you walk, a bloodless s…
In fairyland the little boys Would rather fight than eat their… They like to chase a gauze-winged… And catch and beat him till he squ… Sometimes they come to sleeping me…
[How different people and differen… The Old Horse in the City The moon’s a peck of corn. It lie… Heaped up for me to eat. I wish that I might climb the pat…
We are happy all the time Even when we fight: Sweet briars of the stairways, Gay fairies of the grime; We, who are playing to-night.…
The moon’s an open furnace door Where all can see the blast, We shovel in our blackest griefs, Upon that grate are cast Our aching burdens, loves and fear…
Where does Cinderella sleep? By far-off day-dream river. A secret place her burning Prince Decks, while his heart-strings qui… Homesick for our cinder world,
An endless line of splendor, These troops with heaven for home, With creeds they go from Scotland… With incense go from Rome. These, in the name of Jesus,
I asked the old Negro, “What i… I. IN WHICH A RACIN… This is the order of the music of… First, from the far East comes bu… The crooning turns to a sunrise si…
Two statesmen met by moonlight. Their ease was partly feigned. They glanced about the prairie. Their faces were constrained. In various ways aforetime
WHERE is David?. . . O God’s p… Saul has passed, the good and grea… Mourn for Saul the first-anointed… Head and shoulders o’er the state. He was found among the Prophets:
Your pen needs but a ruffle To be Pavlova whirling. It surely is a scalawag A-scamping down the page. A pretty little May-wind
Hungry for music with a desperate… I prowled abroad, I threaded thro… The evening crowd was clamoring an… Vulgar and pitiful—my heart bowed… Till I remembered duller hours ma…
‘There’s machinery in the butterfl… There’s a mainspring to the bee; There’s hydraulics to a daisy, And contraptions to a tree. ‘If we could see the birdie
It is portentous, and a thing of s… That here at midnight, in our litt… A mourning figure walks, and will… Near the old court-house pacing up… Or by his homestead, or in shadowe…