#AmericanWriters
Be pleased, O Lord, to take a peo… That Thine avenging sword has spa… That Thou hast parted from our li… And forced our neighbors’ lips to… Father of Mercies, with a heart c…
‘Let music flourish!’ So he said… Hark! ere he’s gone the minstrelsy… The symphonies ascend, a swelling… Melodious thunders fill the welkin… The grand old lawyers, chinning on…
The rimer quenches his unheeded fi… The sound surceases and the sense… Then the domestic dog, to east and… Expounds the passions burning in h… The rising moon o’er that enchante…
A cook adorned with paper cap, Or waiter with a tray, May be a worthy kind of chap In his way, But when we want one for Recorder…
When Liberverm resigned the chair Of This or That in college, where For two decades he’d gorged his br… With more than it could well conta… In order to relieve the stress
As time rolled on the whole world… A desolation and a darksome curse; And some one said: ‘The changes t… In the fair frame of things, from… Are wrought by strikes. The sun w…
One thousand years I slept beneat… My sleep in 1901 beginning, Then, by the action of some scurvy… Who happened then to recollect my… I was revived and given another in…
Well, well, old Father Christmas,… With your thick neck and thin pret… Less redness in the nose-nay, even… Would not, I think, particularly… When seen close to, not mounted in…
As Death was a-riding out one day… Across Mount Carmel he took his w… Where he met a mendicant monk, Some three or four quarters drunk, With a holy leer and a pious grin,
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…
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…
Lo! the wild rabbit, happy in the… Of qualities to meaner beasts deni… Surveys the ass with reverence and… Adoring his superior length of ear… And says: ‘No living creature, le…
The Widows of Ashur Are loud in their wailing: ‘No longer the ’masher’ Sees Widows of Ashur!' So each is a lasher
Slain as they lay by the secret, s… Pitiless hand of an unseen foe, Two score thousand old soldiers ha… The river to join the loved and lo… In the space of a year their spiri…
‘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…
