#AmericanWriters
INSPIRED BY READING M… PRINTED IN THE NEW YOR… Though earnest and industrious, I still am unillustrious; No papers empty purses
How do you tackle your work each d… Are you scared of the job you find… Do you grapple the task that comes… With a confident, easy mind? Do you stand right up to the work…
Horace: Epode 25 “Nox erat et cælo fulgebat Luna… How sweet the moonlight sleeps,"… “Upon this bank!” that starry nigh… The night you vowed you’d be devot…
For something like eleven summers I’ve written things that aimed to… Our careless mealy-mouthéd mummers To be more sedulous of speech. So sloppy of articulation
William, it was, I think, three y… As I recall, one cool October mor… (You have The Tribune files; I t… I gave you warning). I said, in well-selected words and…
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
Up goes the price of our bread— Up goes the cost of our caking! People must ever be fed; Bakers must ever be baking. So, though our nerves may be quaki…
I do not hold with him who thinks The world is jonahed by a jinx; That everything is sad and sour, And life a withered hothouse flowe… I hate the Polyanna pest
(The man who wants the perfect wif… ‘stock-size.’ She comes cheaper.-_… Ah, Myrtilla, woe and dear me! Lackadaydee and alas! What is this, I greatly fear me,
‘Scorn not the sonnet.’ Well, I r… I would not scorn a rondeau, villa… Ballade, sestina, triolet, rondel, Or e’en a quatrain, humble and for… An so it made my Pegasus to trot
As neat as wax, as good as new, As true as steel, as truth is true… Good as a sermon, keen as hate, Full as a tick, and fixed as fate— Brief as a dream, long as the day,
I try to touch the public taste, For thus I earn my daily bread. I try to write what folks will pas… In scrap books after I am dead. By Public Craving I am led.
All stark and cold the merchant la… All cold and stark lay he. And who hath killed the fair merch… Now tell the truth to me. Oh, I have killed this fair merch…
Horace: Book II, Elegy 8 “Eripitur nobis iam pridem cara pu… While she I loved is being torn From arms that held her many years… Dost thou regard me, friend, with…
Horace: Epode 14 “Mollis inertia cur tantam diffude… Maecenas, you fret me, you worry m… Demanding I turn out a rhyme; Insisting on reasons, you hurry me…