The Raven croak'd as she sate at her meal, And the Old Woman knew what he said, And she grew pale at the Raven's tale, And sicken'd and went to her bed. ...
Oh, dere 's lots o' keer an' trouble In dis world to swaller down; An' ol' Sorrer 's purty lively In her way o' gittin' roun'. Yet dere's times when I furgit em,-- Aches an' pains an' troubles all,--...
He drank strong waters and his speech was coarse; He purchased raiment and forbore to pay'; He stuck a trusting junior with a horse, And won gymkhanas in a doubtful way....
Is there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. ...
It's enough to make me throw the chair through the panes of the mirror Into the street - There I sit with raised eyebrows: All bars are full, My bar is empty - isn't that terrific......
This song that I sing-- It is not of a spring, Nor yet of a silvery stream-- But of a vision bright Which came last night In the garb of a blissful dream-- When I thought, as I lay,...
On skies still and starlit White lustres take hold, And grey flushes scarlet, And red flashes gold. And sun-glories cover The rose shed above her, Like lover and lover...
A tall, bony old woman, with iron face and dull, fixed look, moves with long strides, and, with an arm dry as a stick, pushes before her another woman. ...
I climb the highest cliff; I hear the sound Of dashing waves; I gaze intent around; I mark the gray cope, and the hollowness Of heaven, and the great sun, that comes to bless...
A is an Angel of blushing eighteen: B is the Ball where the Angel was seen: C is her Chaperone, who cheated at cards: D is the Deuxtemps, with Frank of the Guards: E is the Eye which those dark lashes cover:...
Wunst, 'way West in Illinoise, Wuz two Bears an' their two boys: An' the two boys' names, you know, Wuz - like ours is, - Jim an' Jo; An' their parunts' names wuz same's,...
One day in ashy, cindery terrains, As I meandered, making my complaint To nature, slowly sharpening the knife Of thought against the whetstone of my heart, In plainest day I saw around my head...
Dear Cloe, how blubber'd is that pretty Face? Thy Cheek all on Fire, and Thy Hair all uncurl'd: Pr'ythee quit this Caprice; and (as old Falstaf says) Let Us e'en talk a little like Folks of This World. ...