I rise and applaud, in the patriot… Whenever (as often) I hear The palpitanat strains of “The St… I shout and cheer. And also, to show my unbound devot…

“Oh bard,” I said, “your verse is… The shackles that encumber me, The fetters that are my obsession, Are never gyves to your expression… ”The fear of falsities in rhyme,

I thought that I was wholly free, That I had Love upon the shelf; “Hereafter,” I declared in glee, “I’ll have my evenings to myself.” How can such mortal beauty live?

Lady in the blue kimono, you that… One may see you gazing, gazing gaz… Idly looking out your window from… Are you convalescent, lady? Are y… Ever gazing, as you hang there on…

How narrow his vision, how cribbed… How prejudiced all of his views! How hard is the shell of his bigot… How difficult he to excuse! His face should be slapped and his…

Tell me not, in doctored numbers, Life is but a name for work! For the labour that encumbers Me I wish that I could shirk. Life is phony! Life is rotten!

INSPIRED BY READING M… PRINTED IN THE NEW YOR… Though earnest and industrious, I still am unillustrious; No papers empty purses

Gaze at the good-natured crowd, List to the noise and the rattle! Heavens! that woman is loud– Loud as the din of a battle. List to the noise and the rattle!

Never mind the slippery wet street… The tire with a thousand claws wil… Stop as quickly as you will— Those thousand claws grip the road… Turn as sharply as you will—

("Humourists have amused themselves by translating famous sonnets into free verse. A result no less ridiculous would have been obtained if somebody had re-written a passage from 'Paradi...

(There is said to be a steady dema… in England. There are readers who… sedative for tired nerves; there a… Trollope’s quiet humour. Some peo… James’s tangled syntax the restful…

AD LEUCONOEN Horace: Book I, Ode 13. _'Tu ne quoesieris, scire nefas-'_ It is not right for you to know, s… Leuconoe,

When the Festal Board, as the pap… Groans 'neath the weight of a lot… At breakfast, Fruhstuck or dejeun… (As a bard tri-lingual I’m rather… At breakfast, then, if I may repe…

When you came you were like red wi… And the taste of you burnt my mout… Now you are like morning bread— Smooth and pleasant, I hardly taste you at all, for I…

(Why don’t you ever write any chil… —A MOTHER.) My right-hand neighbour hath a chi… A pretty child of five or six, Not more than other children wild,