#AmericanWriters
Labor is a thing I do not like; Workin’s makes me want to go on st… Sittin’ in an office on a sunny af… Thinkin o’ nothin’ but a ragtime t… ‘Cause I got the blues, I said I…
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…
AD ARIUSTUM FUSCUM Horace: Book I, Ode 22. ‘_Integer vitae sclerisque purus_'… _Take it from me: A guy who’s squ… His chances always are the best.
Horace: Book II, Elegy 2 “Liber eram et vacuo meditabar viv… I was free. I thought that I had… Love’s Antarctic Zone. “A truce to sentiment,” I said. “…
Lady when I left you Ere I sailed the sea, Bitterly bereft you Told me you would be. Frequently and often
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…
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
(Who hitches laundering articles t… string and pastes them on the pane… Lady, thou that livest Just across the way, If a hang thou givest
It was a summer evening; Old Kaspar was at home, Sitting before his cottage door— Like in the Southey pome— And near him, with a magazine,
The burden of hard hitting. Slug… Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus… Else fandom shouteth: “Who said y… Back to the jasper league, you min… Swat, hit, connect, line out, goet…
("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. ...
These are the saddest of possible… Tinker to Evers to Chance. Trio of Bear-cubs, fleeter than b… Tinker to Evers to Chance. Ruthlessly pricking our gonfalon b…
Ah, Myrtilla mine, you said– And your tone was earnest, very– You would never deck your head With this vernal millinery. Myrt, to mince no words, you lied;
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…
AD LEUCONOEN Horace: Book I, Ode 13. _'Tu ne quoesieris, scire nefas-'_ It is not right for you to know, s… Leuconoe,