Elizabeth Barrett Browning Sat gossiping with Robert. (She was really a raving beauty in… With Mary Pickford curls in cloud… She was trying to think of somethi…

’Tis a moonlight night in the spring of the year.” In Which, contrary to Artistic Custom, the moral of the piece is placed before the reader. (From the first Khandaka of the M...

The cornfields rise above mankind, Lifting white torches to the blue, Each season not ashamed to be Magnificently decked for you. What right have you to call them y…

This section is a Christmas tree: Loaded with pretty toys for you. Behold the blocks, the Noah’s ark… The popguns painted red and blue. No solemn pine-cone forest-fruit,

The Moon’€™s a snowball. See the… Of white that cross the sphere. The Moon’€™s a snowball, melted d… A dozen times a year. Yet rolled again in hot July

Your pen needs but a ruffle To be Pavlova whirling. It surely is a scalawag A-scamping down the page. A pretty little May-wind

Incense and Splendor haunt me as… Though my good works have been, al… Though I do naught, High Heaven… And future ages pass in tall revie… I see the years to come as armies…

To be intoned, all but the two… Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong. Here lies a kitten good, who kept A kitten’s proper place. He stole no pantry eatables,

A Fantasy, dedicated to the little poet Alice Oliver Henderson, ten years old. The Fantasy shows how tiger-hearts are the cause of war in all ages. It shows how the mammoth forces ma...

The North Star whispers: “You ar… Of those whose course no chance ca… You blunder, but are not undone, Your spirit-task is fixed and stra… ”When here you walk, a bloodless s…

A Recitation for Martha Wakefiel… There was a little turtle. He lived in a box. He swam in a puddle. He climbed on the rocks.

Sleep softly... eagle forgotten...… Time has its way with you there, a… “We have buried him now,” thought… They made a brave show of their mo… They had snarled at you, barked at…

(Being a Chant of the American… O market square, O slattern place… Is glory in your slack disgrace? Plump quack doctors sell their pil… Gentle grafters sell brass watches…

In a nation of one hundred fine, m… There are plenty of sweeping, swin… And knock your old blue devils out… I brag and chant of Bryan, Bryan,… Candidate for president who sketch…

Last night at black midnight I wo… The windows were shaking, there wa… The floor was a-tremble, the door… White fires, crimson fires, shone… I rushed to the door yard. The ci…