#Americans #Suicide #XIXCentury #XXCentury
An old actor at the Player’s Club told me that Edwin Booth first impersonated Hamlet when a barnstormer in California. There were few theatres, but the hotels were provided with crude a...
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
Friends, I will not cease hoping… Such things I see, and some of th… Though now or streets are harsh an… Though our strong youths are strid… Friends, that sweet town, that won…
[How different people and differen… The Old Horse in the City The moon’s a peck of corn. It lie… Heaped up for me to eat. I wish that I might climb the pat…
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…
A POEM DEDICATED T… Galahad . . . soldier that perishe… Our hearts are breaking with shame… Galahad . . . knight who perished… Teach us to fight for immaculate w…
When Yankee soldiers reach the ba… Then Joan of Arc gives each the a… For she is there in armor clad, to… All the young poets of the wide wo… Which of our freemen did she greet…
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...
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…
[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…
(To Edgar Lee Masters, with g… Here upon the prarie Is our ancestral hall. Agate is the dome, Cornelian the wall.
The moon’s a steaming chalice, Of honey and venom-wine. A little of it sipped by night Makes the long hours divine. But oh, my reckless lovers,
In which he is remembered in simil… the king’s jester, who died when H… Yorick is dead. Boy Hamlet walks… Beneath the battlements of Elsino… Where are those oddities and caper…
Once I loved a fairy, Queen Mab it was. Her voice Was like a little Fountain That bids the birds rejoice. Her face was wise and solemn,
No man should stand before the moo… To make sweet song thereon, With dandified importance, His sense of humor gone. Nay, let us don the motley cap,
