I dreamed that I was dead. The ye… The world forgot that such a man a… Had ever lived and written: other… Were hailed with homage, in their… Out of my grave a giant beech upgr…

That from _you_, neighbor! to whos… Each rhyming literary knacker scou… His cart-compelling Pegasus to tr… As folly, fame or famine smartly u… Admonished by the stimulating goad…

Sweet Spirit of Cesspool, hear a… Her terrors pacify and offspring s… Upon Silurians alone let fall (And God in Heaven have mercy on… The red revenges of your fragrant…

Death, are you well? I trust you… That’s painful or in any way annoy… No kidney trouble that may carry y… Or heart disease to keep you from… Your meals-and ours. 'T were very…

Nightly I put up this humble peti… ‘Forgive me, O Father of Glories… My sins of commission, my sins of… My sins of the Mission Dolores.’

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

So, in the Sunday papers _you_, D… Damn, all great Englishmen in Eng… I am no Englishman, but in my rea… A rogue shall never rail where her… You are the man, if I mistake you…

Off Santa Cruz the western wave Was crimson as with blood: The sun was sinking to his grave Beneath that angry flood. Sir Walter Turnbull, brave and st…

The Senate woke; the Chairman’s s… Was stilled, its echoes balking; The startled members dreamed no mo… For Steele, who long had held the… Had suddenly ceased talking.

Jacob Jacobs, of Oakland, he swor… 'Dat Solomon Martin-I’ll haf his… Solomon Martin, of Oakland, he sa… ‘Of Shacob Shacobs der bleed I v… So they met, with seconds and surg…

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…

False to his art and to the high c… God laid upon him, Markham’s rebe… Beats all in vain the harp he touc… It yields a jingle and it yields n… No more the strings beneath his fi…

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…

‘O son of mine age, these eyes los… Be eyes, I pray, to thy dying sir… ‘O father, fear not, for mine eyes… I read through a millstone at dead… ‘My son, O tell me, who are those…

Goldenson hanged! Well, Heaven fo… That I should smile above him: Though truth to tell, I never did Exactly love him. It can’t be wrong, though, to rejo…