I dreamed one night that Stephen… And for admission up at Heaven ap… ‘Who are you?’ asked St. Peter.… ‘Jeems Pipes, of Pipesville.’ Pe… Opened the gates and said: 'I’m g…

‘The world is dull,’ I cried in m… ‘Its myths and fables are no longe… ’Roll back thy centuries, O Fathe… To Greece transport me in her gol… 'Give back the beautiful old Gods…

Nay, Peter Robertson, 'tis not fo… To blubber o’er Max Taubles for h… By Heaven! my hearty, if you only… How better is a grave-worm in the… Than brains like yours-how far mor…

As oft it happens in the youth of… That mists obscure the sun’s imper… Who, as he’s mounting to the dome’… Smites and dispels them with a ste… So you the vapors that begirt your…

Like a worn mother he attempts in… To still the unruly Crier of his… The more he rocks the cradle of hi… The more uproarious grows the brat…

Judge Shafter, you’re an aged man… And learned too, I doubt not, in… And a head white with many a winte… (I wish, however that your heart w… Claims reverence and honor; but th…

So, Estee, you are still alive! I… That you had died and were a bless… I know at least your coffin once w… With Railroad money; and ‘twas sa… Historians that Stanford made a b…

By hardihood to rise and fear to s… And fitly to rebuke his sins decre… That, hide from others with what c… Night sha’n’t be black enough nor… That from himself himself can ever…

'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…

They were two deaf mutes, and they… Resolved to be groom and bride; And they listened to nothing that… Nor ever a word replied. From wedlock when warned by the ma…

The sullen church-bell’s intermitt… The dirge’s melancholy monotone, The measured march, the drooping f… A great man’s progress to his plac… Along broad avenues himself decree…

Writer folk across the bay Take the pains to see and say All their upward palms in air: 'Joaquin Miller’s cut his hair!' Hasten, hasten, writer folk

Precursor of our woes, historic sp… What dismal records burn upon thy… On thee I see the maculating stai… Of passengers’ commingled blood an… In this red rust a widow’s curse a…

‘Tis Master Fitch, the editor; He takes an holiday. Now wherefore, venerable sir, So resolutely gay? He lifts his head, he laughs aloud…

Why should he not have been allowe… To thread with peaceful feet the c… Which filled that Christian stree… The Decalogue he had observed, From Faith in Jesus had not swerv…