There was a cranky Governor His name it wasn’t Waterman. For office he was hotter than The love of any lover, nor Was Boruck’s threat of aiding him

What! photograph in colors? 'Tis… And he who dreams it is not overwi… If colors are vibration they but s… And have no being. But if Tyndall… Why, come, then-photograph my lady…

I drew aside the Future’s veil And saw upon his bier The poet Whitman. Loud the wail And damp the falling tear. 'He’s dead-he is no more!' one cri…

'O venerable patriot, I pray Stand not here coatless; at the br… We’ll know the grand result-and ev… The eastern sky is faintly touched… 'It ill befits thine age’s hoary c…

God dreamed-the suns sprang flamin… And sailing worlds with many a ven… He woke-His smile alone illumined…

Here sleeps one of the greatest st… Of jurisprudence. Nature endowed him with the gift Of the juristhrift. All points of law alike he threw

When Man and Woman had been made, All but the disposition, The Devil to the workshop strayed… And somehow gained admission. The Master rested from his work,

From pride, joy, hate, greed, mela… From any kind of vice, or folly, Bias, propensity or passion That is in prevalence and fashion, Save one, the sufferer or lover

I muse upon the distant town In many a dreamy mood. Above my head the sunbeams crown The graveyard’s giant rood. The lupin blooms among the tombs.

Hangman’s hands laid in this tomb… Imp of Satan’s getting, whom an Ancient legend says that woman Never bore-he owed his birth To Sin herself. From Hell to Ear…

To flatter your way to the goad of… O plausible Mr. Perkins, You’ll need ten tons of the softes… And butter a thousand firkins. The soap you could put to a better…

With crow bones all the land is wh… From the gates of morn to the gate… Picked clean, they lie on the cumb… And the politician’s paunch is rou… And he strokes it down and across…

Hail, blessed Blunder! golden ido… Clay-footed deity of all who fail. Celestial image, let thy glory shi… Thy feet concealing, but a lamp to… Let me, at seasons opportune and f…

FITCH: 'All vices you’ve exhausted, frien… So all the papers say.' PICKERING: ‘Ah, what vile calumnies are penne…

Come, gentlemen-your gold. Thanks: welcome to the show. To hear a story told In words you do not know. Now, great Salvini, rise