Marsupial Bill: Part Second. (James Brunton Stephens Poems)
1FAST flew the hours. We may not tellOf William's weary quest,How round the outskirts of the townHe roamed like one ...
1FAST flew the hours. We may not tellOf William's weary quest,How round the outskirts of the townHe roamed like one ...
Sir; though (I thanke God for it) I do hatePerfectly all this towne, yet there's one stateIn all ill things ...
But this is concocted by rules so complete; Though piquant, is healthy and easy digested; And if you will note it as ...
When August days are hot an' dry, When burning copper is the sky, I 'd rather fish than feast or fly In airy ...
This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh,We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O gosh!He ...
In order to perfect all readers the statements should he carved on rock walls, on cave walls, and on the ...
A Female, to a Drunkard marry'd, When all her other Arts miscarry'd, Had yet one Stratagem to prove him, And ...
Composed when confined to a solitary cell, on breadand water, without books or writing materials, May 1849 Troublesome fancies beset ...
When men of shallow heads themselves advanceAbove their usual pitch of ignorance,To talk of maxims and of rules; forbearTo interpose ...
Who knows whether the sea heals or corrodes? The wading, wintered pack-beasts of the feet slough off, in spring, the ...
I'm sick to death of money, of the lack of it, that is,And of practising perpetually small economies;Of paring off ...
For Carl Solomon I I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves ...
This talk about the journalists that run the East is bosh, We've got a Western editor that's little, but, O ...
Thus heav'nward all things tend. For all were once Perfect, and all must be at length restor'd. So God has ...
See! Winter comes, to rule the varied Year, Sullen, and sad; with all his rising Train, Vapours, and Clouds, and ...
I've been going right on, page by page, since we last kissed, two long dolls in a cage, two hunger-mongers ...
I was miserable, of course, for I was seventeen and so I swung into action and wrote a poem and ...
Alas, how pleasant are their dayes With whom the Infant Love yet playes! Sorted by pairs, they still are seen ...
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