#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
God dreamed-the suns sprang flamin… And sailing worlds with many a ven… He woke-His smile alone illumined…
Cheeta Raibama Chunder Sen, The wisest and the best of men, Betook him to the place where sat With folded feet upon a mat Of precious stones beneath a palm,
Posterity with all its eyes Will come and view him where he li… Then, turning from the scene away With a concerted shrug, will say: 'H’m, Scarabaeus Sisyphus
'Ours is a Christian Army’; so he… A regiment of bangomen who led. ‘And ours a Christian Navy,’ adde… Who sailed a thunder-junk upon the… Better they know than men unwarlik…
Unhappy State! with horrors still… Thy Hugo dead, thy Boulanger aliv… A Prince who’d govern where he da… And who for power would his birthr… Who, anxious o’er his enemies to r…
YES, he was that, or that, as you… Did so and so, though, faith, it w… Lived like a fool, or a philosophe… And had whatever’s needful to a fa… As rough inflections on a planet m…
Alas, alas, for the tourist’s guid… He turned from the beaten trail as… Wandered bewildered, lay down and… O grim is the Irony of Fate: It switches the man of low estate
'Twas an Injin chieftain, in feat… Who stood on the ocean’s rim; There were numberless leagues of e… But there wasn’t enough for him. So he knuckled a thumb in his pain…
Way down in the Boom Belt lived… A person named Petrie, he lived t… But Mr. Roselle he resided away Sing tooral iooral iooral iay. Once Mrs. Roselle in her room was…
Must you, Carnegie, evermore expl… Your worth, and all the reasons gi… Why black and red are similarly wh… And you and God identically right… Still must our ears without redres…
Swains and maidens, young and old, You to me this tale have told. Where the squalid town of Dae Irks the comfortable sea, Spreading webs to gather fish,
Munhall, to save my soul you brave… Although, to save my soul, I can’… ‘Tis naught to you, to me however… Why, bless it! you might save a mi… Yet lose your own; for still the ’…
Another Irish landlord gone to gr… Slain by the bullets of the tenant… Pray, good agrarians, what wrong r… Such foul redress? Between you an… All Ireland’s parted with an even…
'Tis the census enumerator A-singing all forlorn: It’s ho! for the tall potater, And ho! for the clustered corn. The whiffle-tree bends in the bree…
As in a dream, strange epitaphs I… Inscribed on yet unquarried stone, Where wither flowers yet unstrown The Campo Santo of the time to be…