Ah, Myrtilla mine, you said– And your tone was earnest, very– You would never deck your head With this vernal millinery. Myrt, to mince no words, you lied;

(March 4, 1913) Thine aid, O Muse, I consciously… I crave thy succour, ask for thine… That men may cry: “Some little od… O Muse, grant me the strength to…

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

("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...

If she be not so to me, What care I how fair she be? —Wither. I don’t care if a girl is fair If she doesn’t seem beautiful to m…

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…

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…

A quatrain fills a little space, Although it’s pretty small, And oftentimes, as in this case, It has no point at all.

As neat as wax, as good as new, As true as steel, as truth is true… Good as a sermon, keen as hate, Full as a tick, and fixed as fate— Brief as a dream, long as the day,

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…

Horace: Book III, Ode 3 "Carminis interea nostri redæmus i… Let us return, then, for a time, To our accustomed round of rhyme; And let my songs’ familiar art

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

Horace: Epode 25 “Nox erat et cælo fulgebat Luna s… How sweet the moonlight sleeps,"… “Upon this bank!” that starry nigh… The night you vowed you’d be devot…

I used to think that this environ– Ment talk was all a lot of guff; Place mattered not with Keats and… Stuff. If I have thoughts that need disc…