#Americans
And you are the poet, and so you w… Something—what is it?—a theme, a f… Something or other the Muse won’t… To your old poetical necromancy; Why, one half you poets—you can’t…
The shades of night were falling f… As through an Eastern village pas… A youth who bore, through dust and… A stencil-plate, that read complet… CLEAN PAINT, OIL CLOT…
(REFECTORY, MISSION S… Good!—said the Padre,—believe me… ‘Don Giovanni,’ or what you will, The type’s eternal! We knew him h… As Don Diego del Sud. I fear
When I bought you for a song, Years ago—Lord knows how long!— I was struck—I may be wrong— By your features, And—a something in your air
(RE-UNION, ARMY OF THE… Well, you see, the fact is, Colon… For the farm is not half planted,… And my leg is getting troublesome,… And the doctors, they have cut and…
I reside at Table Mountain, and m… I am not up to small deceit or any… And I’ll tell in simple language… That broke up our Society upon th… But first I would remark, that it…
(AN IDYL OF THE BALUSTER… BOBBY, aetat. 3 1/2. JOHNNY,… BOBBY Do you know why they’ve put us in… Up in the attic, close against the…
My Papa knows you, and he says yo… books; But I never read nothing you wrot… looks. So I guess you’re like me when I…
(TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870) Which I wish to remark, And my language is plain, That for ways that are dark And for tricks that are vain,
Name of my heroine, simply ‘Rose;… Surname, tolerable only in prose; Habitat, Paris,—that is where She resided for change of air; Aetat twenty; complexion fair;
Where the short-legged Esquimaux Waddle in the ice and snow, And the playful Polar bear Nips the hunter unaware; Where by day they track the ermine…
Dear Dolly! who does not recall The thrilling page that pictured a… Those charms that held our sense i… Just as the artist caught her,— As down that English lane she tri…
Where West Point crouches, and wi… Turns the whole river eastward thr… Whose jutting crags, half silver,… Like bossy bucklers of Leonidas; Where buttressed low against the s…
DEAD AT PITTSFIELD, MASS… O poor Romancer—thou whose printe… Filled with rude speech and ruder… Was given to heroes in whose vulga… No trace appears of gentler ways a…
(IN THE COLORADO PARK, 187… Wot’s that you’re readin’?—a novel… You a man grown and bearded and hi… Stuff about gals and their sweethe… knife.
