(With the usual.) In winter I get up at night, And dress by an electric light. In summer, autumn, ay, and spring, I have to do the self-same thing.

The terrible things that the Gove… Of Kansas says alarm me; And yet somehow we won the war In spite of the Regular Army. The things they say of the old N.…

How narrow his vision, how cribbed… How prejudiced all of his views! How hard is the shell of his bigot… How difficult he to excuse! His face should be slapped and his…

Horace: Epode 14 "Mollis inertia cur tantam diffude… Mæcenas, you fret me, you worry me Demanding I turn out a rhyme; Insisting on reasons, you hurry me…

Shall I, lying in a grot, Die because the day is hot? Or declare I can’t endure Such a torrid temperature? Be it hotter than the flames

Horace: Book I, Ode 2 "Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, que… AD LEUCONOEN Look not, Leuconoë, into the futu… Seek not to find what the Answer…

("Sir: For the first time in twenty-three years 'Bartlett’s Familiar Quotations’ has been revised and enlarged, and under a separate cover we are sending you a copy of the new edition. ...

When first I doffed my olive drab… I thought, delightfully though mut… “Henceforth I shall have pleasure… Solutely.” Dull with the drudgery of war,

Horace: Epode 25 “Nox erat et cælo fulgebat Luna s… How sweet the moonlight sleeps,"… “Upon this bank!” that starry nigh… The night you vowed you’d be devot…

A quatrain fills a little space, Although it’s pretty small, And oftentimes, as in this case, It has no point at all.

“Oh bard,” I said, “your verse is… The shackles that encumber me, The fetters that are my obsession, Are never gyves to your expression… ”The fear of falsities in rhyme,

I used to think that this environ– Ment talk was all a lot of guff; Place mattered not with Keats and… Stuff. If I have thoughts that need disc…

Sing, O Muse, in treble clef, A little song of the A.E.F., And pardon me, please, if I give… To something akin to sentiment. But we have our moments Over Here

Lady when I left you Ere I sailed the sea, Bitterly bereft you Told me you would be. Frequently and often

Horace: Book III, Ode 3 "Carminis interea nostri redæmus i… Let us return, then, for a time, To our accustomed round of rhyme; And let my songs’ familiar art