#Americans
In contact, lo! the flint and stee… By sharp and flame, the thought re… That he the metal, she the stone, Had cherished secretly alone.
I Slept, and, waking in the years… Heard voices, and approaching when… Listened indifferently where a key Had lately been removed. An ancie… Said to her daughter: ‘Go to yond…
OM JONESMITH _(loquitur)_: I… The night-a rather clever thing to… How soundly women sleep _(looks at… They’re all alike. The sweetest t… Is woman when she lies with folded…
Death-poet Pickering sat at his d… Wrapped in appropriate gloom; His posture was pensive and pictur… Like a raven charming a tomb. Enter a party a-drinking the cup
Enoch Arden was an able Seaman; hear of his mishap Not in wild mendacious fable, As 't was told by t’ other chap; For I hold it is a youthful
Good friend, it is with deep regre… The latest, strangest turning of y… Though any way you wear that menta… The seamy side seems always to be… Who could have thought that you wo…
O, heavenly powers! will wonders n… Hair upon dogs and feathers upon g… The boys in mischief and the pigs… The drinking water wet! the coal o… In meadows, rivulets surpassing fa…
Alas, alas, for the tourist’s guid… He turned from the beaten trail as… Wandered bewildered, lay down and… O grim is the Irony of Fate: It switches the man of low estate
Lord, shed thy light upon his dese… And gild his branded brow, that no… His forfeit life to balk thy holy… That spares him for the ripening o… Already, lo! the red sign is descr…
DRAMATIS PERSONAE. MOUNTWAVE _a Politician_ HARDHAND _a Workingman_ TOK BAK _a Chinaman_ SATAN _a Friend to Mountwave_
‘If life were not worth having,’ s… ‘T would have in suicide one pleas… ‘An error,’ said the pessimist, 'y… What’s not worth having cannot be…
In fair San Francisco a good man… And he wrote out a will, for he di… Said he: ‘It is proper, when maki… To stimulate virtue by comforting… So he left all his property, legal…
Lord of the tempest, pray refrain From leveling this church again. Now in its doom, as so you’ve will… We acquiesce. But _you’ll_ rebuil…
Nay, Peter Robertson, 'tis not fo… To blubber o’er Max Taubles for h… By Heaven! my hearty, if you only… How better is a grave-worm in the… Than brains like yours-how far mor…
Of life’s elixir I had writ, when… (Pray Heaven it spared him who th… Settled upon my senses with so dee… A stupefaction that men thought me… The centuries stole by with noisel…
