#AmericanWriters
We were very tired, we were very m… We had gone back and forth all nig… It was bare and bright, and smelle… But we looked into a fire, we lean… We lay on a hilltop underneath the…
The rich man has his motor-car, His country and his town estate. He smokes a fifty-cent cigar And jeers at Fate. He frivols through the livelong da…
“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,
Horace: Book I, Ode 2 “Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, qu… AD LEUCONOEN Look not, Leuconoë, into the fut… Seek not to find what the answer m…
AFTER HENLEY Where are the wheezes they essayed And where the smiles they made to… Where’s Caron’s seltzer siphon la… A squirt from which laid Herbert…
I thought that I was wholly free, That I had Love upon the shelf; “Hereafter,” I declared in glee, “I’ll have my evenings to myself.” How can such mortal beauty live?
Horace: Book I, Ode 19 “Mater sæva Cupidinum” Venus, the cruel mother of The Cupids (symbolising Love), Bids me to muse upon and sigh
“Nam nihil est, quod non mortalibu… —PETRONIUS Nothing there is that mortal man m… What in our wealth we treasured, i… The gold upon a sinking ship has o…
Horace: Book III, Ode 3 “Carminis interea nostri redæmus… Let us return, then, for a time, To our accustomed round of rhyme; And let my songs’ familiar art
("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. ...
Many a jest that refuses to die Bobs up again as the seasons appea… Deathless it hits us again in the… Changeless and dull as the calenda… Musty and mouldy and yellow and se…
(Parody is a genre frowned upon by… of literature... And yet it is a g… ‘The Point of View’ in May _Scri… A sweet disorder in the verse That never looks behind
Twelve fleeting years ago my Myrt… (Ehu fugaces! maybe more) I wrote of the directoire skirt You wore. Ten years ago, Myrtilla mine,
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…
(Why don’t you ever write any chil… —A MOTHER.) My right-hand neighbour hath a chi… A pretty child of five or six, Not more than other children wild,