BOYS SING: Night! with all thine eyes look down! Darkness! weep thy holiest dew! Never smiled the inconstant moon On a pair so true. Haste, coy hour! and quench all light,...
How tired I am! I sink down all alone Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo, Even as a child I hide my face and moan - A little girl that may no farther go; The path above me only seems to grow...
The hoar-frost hisses 'neath the feet, And the worm-fence's straggling length, Smote by the morning's slanted strength, Sparkles one rib of virgin sleet.
Your house of hair, and lady's hand, At first did put me to a stand. I have it now - 'tis plain enough - Your hairy business is a muff. Your engine fraught with cooling gales,...
WITH half an eye your riddle I spy, I observe your wicket hemm'd in by a thicket, And whatever passes is strain'd through glasses. You say it is quiet: I flatly deny it....
Have you heard what says the Swede now, Young Norwegian man? Have you seen what forms proceed now, Border-watch to plan? Shades of those from life departed, Our forefathers single-hearted,...
What ails ye now, ye lousie b----h, To thresh my back at sic a pitch? Losh, man! hae mercy wi' your natch, Your bodkin's bauld, I didna suffer ha'f sae much Frae Daddie Auld. ...
In ancient times, the wise were able In proper terms to write a fable: Their tales would always justly suit The characters of every brute. The ass was dull, the lion brave,...
"But if any old Lady, Knight, Priest, or Physician, Should condemn me for printing a second edition; If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse, May I venture to give her a smack of my muse?" ...
Anthea laugh'd, and, fearing lest excess Might stretch the cords of civil comeliness She with a dainty blush rebuked her face, And call'd each line back to his rule and space.
As I stand waiting in the rain For the foggy hoot of the London train, Gazing at silent wall and lamp And post and rail and platform damp, What is this power that comes to my sight...
Give us, God, to Thee now turning, Fullness of joy, tears full and burning, Of will the full refining fire! Hear our prayer o'er his inurning: His will was one, the whole discerning,...
Anton Sosnowski, from the Shakspeare School Where he assists the janitor, sweeps and dusts, The day now done, sits by a smeared up table Munching coarse bread and drinking beer; before him...
What's that we see from far? the spring of day Bloom'd from the east, or fair enjewell'd May Blown out of April, or some new Star filled with glory to our view, Reaching at heaven,...
It's the curiousest thing in creation, Whenever I hear that old song "Do They Miss Me at Home," I'm so bothered, My life seems as short as it's long! - Fer ev'rything 'pears like adzackly...