#AmericanWriters
If Mr. Jones, Lycurgus B., Had one peculiar quality, ’Twas his severe advocacy Of conjugal fidelity. His views of heaven were very free…
Last night, above the whistling wi… I heard the welcome rain,— A fusillade upon the roof, A tattoo on the pane: The keyhole piped; the chimney-top
(REFUGIO MINE, NORTHER… Drunk and senseless in his place, Prone and sprawling on his face, More like brute than any man Alive or dead,
Oh, say, have you seen at the Wil… So charming and rurally true— A singular bird, with a manner abs… Which they call the Australian Em… Have you
(MR. INTERVIEWER INTER… Know me next time when you see me,… Oh, I mean YOU, old figger-head,… Take out your pensivil, d—n you; s… Any complaints to make? Lots of ‘…
The shades of night were falling f… As through an Eastern village pas… A youth who bore, through dust and… A stencil-plate, that read complet… CLEAN PAINT, OIL CLOT…
Beautiful! Sir, you may say so. T… Is thar, old gal,—Chiquita, my da… Feel of that neck, sir,—thar’s vel… you vixen! Whoa! I say. Jack, trot her out;…
Hark! I hear the tramp of thousan… And of armed men the hum; Lo! a nation’s hosts have gathered Round the quick alarming drum,— Saying, ‘Come,
(AFTER EDGAR ALLAN POE) The skies they were ashen and sobe… The streets they were dirty and dr… It was night in the month of Octo… Of my most immemorial year.
They say that she died of a broken… (I tell the tale as ’twas told to… But her spirit lives, and her soul… Of this sad old house by the sea. Her lover was fickle and fine and…
Where the sun sinks through league… Where the sun dies o’er leagues of… Where the dead bones of wasted riv… Trailed from their channels in yon… Where day by day naught takes the…
(ALKALI STATION) Cicely says you’re a poet; maybe,—… I reckon you’d give me a hundred,… Poetry!—that’s the way some chaps… But I takes mine ‘straight withou…
(NORTHERN MEXICO, 1640) As you look from the plaza at Leo… You can see her house, but the vie… From the porch of the church where… Where much of her past still lives…
(TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870) Which I wish to remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark And for tricks that are vain,
It is the story of Thompson—of Th… Frequently drunk was Thompson, bu… Light and free was the touch of T… Great the mortality incident on th… Yet not happy or gay was Thompson…
