How do you tackle your work each d… Are you scared of the job you find… Do you grapple the task that comes… With a confident, easy mind? Do you stand right up to the work…

WHEN Bill was a lad he was terri… He worried his parents a lot; He’d lie and he’d swear and pull l… His boyhood was naught but a blot. At play and in school he would fra…

Curly locks, Curly Locks, wilt th… Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor ye… But stand in the kitchen and cook… And ride every night in an automob… Curly Locks, Curly Locks, come t…

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…

[I was talking with a newspaper man the other day who seemed to think that the fact that Mrs. Carlyle threw a teacup at Mr. Carlyle should be given to the public merely as a fact. But a...

Horace: Epode 14 “Mollis inertia cur tantam diffude… Maecenas, you fret me, you worry m… Demanding I turn out a rhyme; Insisting on reasons, you hurry me…

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…

All stark and cold the merchant la… All cold and stark lay he. And who hath killed the fair merch… Now tell the truth to me. Oh, I have killed this fair merch…

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,

Horace: Book I, Ode 2 "Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, que… AD LEUCONOEN Look not, Leuconoë, into the futu… Seek not to find what the Answer…

Whenever the penner of this pome Regards a lovely country home, He sighs, in words not insincere, “I think I’d like to live out her… And when the builder of this ditty

Where are the wheezes they essayed And where the smiles they made to… Where’s Caron’s seltzer siphon la… A squirt from which laid Herbert… Where’s Charlie Case’s comic woe

‘Scorn not the sonnet.’ Well, I r… I would not scorn a rondeau, villa… Ballade, sestina, triolet, rondel, Or e’en a quatrain, humble and for… An so it made my Pegasus to trot

Horace: Book II, Elegy 8 “Eripitur nobis iam pridem cara pu… While she I loved is being torn From arms that held her many years… Dost thou regard me, friend, with…