#Americans #Suicide #XIXCentury #XXCentury
[To be sung to the tune of The… [Bass drum beaten loudly.] Booth led boldly with his big bass… (Are you washed in the blood of th… The Saints smiled gravely and the…
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.
Kiss me and comfort my heart Maiden honest and fine. I am the pilgrim boy Lame, but hunting the shrine; Fleeing away from the sweets,
The angels guide him now, And watch his curly head, And lead him in their games, The little boy we led. He cannot come to harm,
Would I might rouse the Lincoln i… That which is gendered in the wild… From lonely prairies and God’s te… Imperial soul, star of a weedy str… Born where the ghosts of buffaloes…
Oh, saucy gold circle of fairyland… Impudent, intimate, delicate treas… A noose for my heart and a ring fo… Here in my study you sing me a mea… Whimsy and song in my little gray…
I asked the old Negro, “What i… I. IN WHICH A RACIN… This is the order of the music of… First, from the far East comes bu… The crooning turns to a sunrise si…
AFTER HAVING READ A… Ah, they are passing, passing by, Wonderful songs, but born to die! Cries from the infinite human seas… Waves thrice-winged with harmonies…
Where a river roars in rapids And doves in maples fret, Where peace has decked the pasture… Our guardian angels met. Long they had sought each other
THE Drunkards in the street are… one another, Heeding not the night-wind, great… gay,— Publicans and wantons—
[Concerning Edgar Allan Poe]<… Who now will praise the Wizard in… With loyal songs, with humors grav… This Jingle-man, of strolling pla… Whom holy folk have hurried by in…
When Bryan speaks, the town’s a h… From miles around, the autos drive… The sparrow chirps. The rooster c… The place is kicking and alive. When Bryan speaks, the bunting gl…
A curse upon each king who leads h… No matter what his plea, to this f… And may it end his wicked dynasty, And may he die in exile and black… If there is vengeance in the Heav…
Romance was always young. You come today Just eight years old With marvellous dark hair. Younger than Dante found you
[This is the hymn to Eleanor,… This is a song to the white-armed… Cold in the breast as the frost-wr… Whose feet are slow on the hills o… Whose round mouth rules by whisper…