#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
When Dr. Bill Bartlett stepped o… Of Mammon’s distracting and weari… To stand and deliver a lecture on… Conditions of Intellectual Life,’ I cursed the offender who gave him…
‘Sas agapo sas agapo,’ He sang beneath her lattice. 'Sas agapo’?' she murmured-'O, I wonder, now, what _that_ is!' Was she less fair that she did bea…
‘Lothario is very low,’ So all the doctors tell. Nay, nay, not _so_-he will be, tho… If ever he get well.
It is a politician man He draweth near his end, And friends weep round that partis… Of every man the friend. Between the Known and the Unknown
He looked upon the ships as they All idly lay at anchor, Their sides with gorgeous workmen… The riveter and planker Republicans and Democrats,
Once with Christ he entered Salem… Once in Moab bullied Balaam, Once by Apuleius staged He the pious much enraged. And, again, his head, as beaver,
The apparel does _not_ proclaim th… Polonius lied like a partisan, And Salomon still would a hero se… If (Heaven dispel the impossible… He stood in a shroud on the hangma…
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.’
Let lowly themes engage my humble… Stupidities of critics, not of men… Be it mine once more the maunderin… Of the expounders’ self-directed r… Their wire-drawn fancies, finicall…
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…
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…
Dom Pedro, Emperor of far Brazil (Whence coffee comes and the three… They say that you’re imperially il… And threatened with paralysis. Tu… Though Emperors are mortal, nothi…
Great poets fire the world with fa… That make a crackling racket, But I’m content with but a whispe… To warm some single jacket.
I reckon that ye never knew, That dandy slugger, Tom Carew, He had a touch as light an’ free As that of any honey-bee; But where it lit there wasn’t much
‘Tis Master Fitch, the editor; He takes an holiday. Now wherefore, venerable sir, So resolutely gay? He lifts his head, he laughs aloud…