IV Fool and Wise
Endow the fool with sun and moon,
Being his, he holds them mean and low;
But to the wise a little boon
Is great, because the giver's so.

Hunting Horns

© Guillaume Apollinaire

Our storys noble as its tragic
like the grimace of a tyrant
no dramas chance or magic
no detail thats indifferent

The Republic

© Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State!

Sail on, O Union, strong and great!

Women Before A Shop

© Ezra Pound

The gew-gaws of false amber and false turquoise attract them.

'Like to like nature': these agglutinous yellows!

In Rotten Row

© William Ernest Henley

In Rotten Row a cigarette
I sat and smoked, with no regret
For all the tumult that had been.
The distances were still and green,
And streaked with shadows cool and wet.

Too Late "Dowglas, Dowglas, Tendir And Treu"

© Dinah Maria Mulock Craik

Could ye come back to me, Douglas, Douglas,
In the old likeness that I knew,
I would be so faithful, so loving, Douglas,
Douglas, Douglas, tender and true.

They went down to the sea in ships,
In ships they went down to the sea.
And the sea had a million lips
And she laughed in her throat for glee.
And. the floor of the sea was strewn
With tempest trophies dread,

Anne Hathaway

© Mathilde Blind

Was not this Anne the flame-like daffodil
Of Shakespeare's March, whose maiden beauty took
His senses captive? Thus the stripling brook
Mirrors a wild flower nodding by the mill,
Then grows a river in which proud cities look,
And with a land's load widens seaward still

Night.

The wings of Evening, spread like phantom sails
Athwart the waning west,
Now as the last thin streak of crimson fails,
Seem as with sleep possessed.

January Morning

I have discovered that most of
the beauties of travel are due to
the strange hours we keep to see them:

Corporal Schnapps

CHORUS: Ach! Mein fraulein!
You ish so ferry unkind!
You coes mit Hans to Zhermany to live,
And leaves poor Schnapps pehind,
And leaves poor Schnapps pehind.

Two Sons

I HAVE two sons, wife

Two, and yet the same;

Love Guerdons

© Edith Nesbit

DEAREST, if I almost cease to weep for you,
Do not doubt I love you just the same;
'Tis because my life has grown to keep for you
All the hours that sorrow does not claim.