Margaret Fuller Slack
I would have been as great as George Eliot But for an untoward fate. For look at the photograph of me made by Penniwit, Chin resting on hand, and deep-set eyes Gray, too, and
Judge Selah Lively
Suppose you stood just five feet two, And had worked your way as a grocery clerk, Studying law by candle light Until you became an attorney at law? And then suppose through your diligence,
Dorcas Gustine
I was not beloved of the villagers, But all because I spoke my mind, And met those who transgressed against me With plain remonstrance, hiding nor nurturing Nor secret griefs nor grudges. That act
Calvin Campbell
Ye who are kicking against Fate, Tell me how it is that on this hill-side, Running down to the river, Which fronts the sun and the south-wind, This plant draws from the air and
William Jones
Once in a while a curious weed unknown to me, Needing a name from my books; Once in a while a letter from Yeomans. Out of the mussel-shells gathered along the shore Sometimes a
John Hancock Otis
As to democracy, fellow citizens, Are you not prepared to admit That I, who inherited riches and was to the manor born, Was second to none in Spoon River In my devotion to the
Cooney Potter
I inherited forty acres from my Father And, by working my wife, my two sons and two daughters From dawn to dusk, I acquired A thousand acres. But not content, Wishing to own two
Lyman King
You may think, passer-by, that Fate Is a pit-fall outside of yourself, Around which you may walk by the use of foresight And wisdom. Thus you believe, viewing the lives of other men, As
Robert Southey Burke
I spent my money trying to elect you Mayor A. D. Blood. I lavished my admiration upon you, You were to my mind the almost perfect man. You devoured my personality, And the idealism
Isa Nutter
Doc Meyers said I had satyriasis, And Doc Hill called it leucaemia But I know what brought me here: I was sixty-four but strong as a man Of thirty-five or forty. And it wasn’t
Franklin Jones
If I could have lived another year I could have finished my flying machine, And become rich and famous. Hence it is fitting the workman Who tried to chisel a dove for me Made
Nicholas Bindle
Were you not ashamed, fellow citizens, When my estate was probated and everyone knew How small a fortune I left? You who hounded me in life, To give, give, give to the churches, to
Elsa Wertman
I was a peasant girl from Germany, Blue-eyed, rosy, happy and strong. And the first place I worked was at Thomas Greene’s. On a summer’s day when she was away He stole into the
Mrs. Charles Bliss
Reverend Wiley advised me not to divorce him For the sake of the children, And Judge Somers advised him the same. So we stuck to the end of the path. But two of the
Willie Metcalf
I was Willie Metcalf. They used to call me “Doctor Meyers” Because, they said, I looked like him. And he was my father, according to Jack McGuire. I lived in the livery stable, Sleeping