#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
When you’re lost in the Wild, and… And Death looks you bang in the e… And you’re sore as a boil, it’s ac… To cock your revolver and . . . di… But the Code of a Man says: “Fig…
When I am old and worse for wear I want to buy a rocking—chair, And set it on a porch where shine The stars of morning—glory vine; With just beyond, a gleam of grass…
Because back home in Tennessee I was a champeen shot, They made a sniper outa me An’ ninety krouts I got: I wish to Christ I’d not!
When the boys come out from Lac L… To take the pay of the “Hudson’s… They are all a—glee for the jambor… With a whoop and a whirl, and a “… For the spree of Spring is a sacr…
I took the clock down from the she… “At eight,” said I, “I shoot myse… It lacked a minute of the hour, And as I waited all a—cower, A skinful of black, boding pain,
Obit 23rd April 1616 Is it not strange that on this com… Two titans of their age, aye of al… Together should renounce this mort… And rise like gods, unsullied and…
O meadow lark, so wild and free, It cannot be, it cannot be, That men to merchandise your spell Do close you in a wicker hell! O hedgerow thrush so mad with glee…
God gave you guts: don’t let Him… Brace up, be worthy of His giving… The road’s a rut, the sky’s a frow… I know you’re plumb fed up with li… Fate birches you, and wry the rod…
As you gaze beyond the bay With such wanness in your eyes, You who have out—stayed your day, Seeing other stars arise, Slender though your lifehold be,
There where the mighty mountains b… There where the sullen sun-dogs gl… And the glacier-glutted streams sw… There where the livid tundras keep… There where the silences are spawn…
When I am dead I will not care How future generations fare, For I will be so unaware. Though fields their slain has carp… And seas be salt with tears they s…
Three Holies sat in sacred place And quaffed celestial wine, As they discussed the human race With dignity divine. Said they: 'Although in doctrine…
Someone’s Mother trails the stree… Wrapt in rotted rags; Broken slippers on her feet Drearily she drags; Drifting in the bitter night,
‘A man should write to please hims… He proudly said. Well, see his poems on the shelf, Dusty, unread. When he came to my shop each day,
He was an old prospector with a vi… He asked me for a grubstake, and t… He hinted of a hidden trove, and w… To question his veracity, this is… “I do not seek the copper streak,…
