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…

Horace: Book I, Ode 2 “Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, qu… AD LEUCONOEN Look not, Leuconoë, into the fut… Seek not to find what the answer m…

We were very tired, we were very m… We had gone back and forth all nig… It was bare and bright, and smelle… But we looked into a fire, we lean… We lay on a hilltop underneath the…

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!

Swift was sweet on Stella; Poe had his Lenore; Burns’ fancy turned to Nancy And a dozen more. Poe was quite a trifler;

(Harvard’s prestige in football is a leading factor. The best players in the leading preparatory schools prefer to study at Cambridge, where they can earn fame on the gridiron. They do ...

“BEE” PALMER has taken the raw human—all too human—stuff of the underworld, with its sighs of sadness and regret, its mad merriment, its swift blaze of passion, its turbulent dances, it...

("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...

For something like eleven summers I’ve written things that aimed to… Our careless mealy-mouthéd mummers To be more sedulous of speech. So sloppy of articulation

In 1909 toilet goods were not cons… In 1919 an assortment of perfumes… —From “How the Farmer Has Change… Maud Muller, on a summer’s day, Powdered her nose with Bon Sachet…

Horace: Book III, Ode 30 “Exegi monumentum aere perennius—” The monument that I have built is… And loftier than the Pyramids whi… No blizzard can destroy it, nor fu…

Horace: Book I, Ode 23 “Vitas hinnuleo me similis, ChloÃ… Why shun me, my Chloë? Nor pisto… Is mine with intention to kill. And yet like a llama you run to yo…

Well William, since I wrote you l… As I recall, one cool October mor… (I have The Tribune files. They… I gave you warning). Since when I penned that conseque…

A soft susurrus in the night, A song whose singer is unseen– ’Twere poetry itself to write ‘A soft susurrus in the night!’ I know, as those mosquitos bite,

Propertius: Elegy VIII, Part 1 “Tune igitur demens nec te mea cur… O Cynthia, hast thou lost thy min… Have I no claim on thine affectio… Dost love the chill Illyrian wind