Mark Twain

Those Annual Bills

These annual bills! these annual bills! How many a song their discord trills Of “truck” consumed, enjoyed, forgot, Since I was skinned by last year’s lot! Those joyous beans are passed away; Those onions

A Sweltering Day In Australia

The Bombola faints in the hot Bowral tree, Where fierce Mullengudgery’s smothering fires Far from the breezes of Coolgardie Burn ghastly and blue as the day expires; And Murriwillumba complaineth in song For the

To Jennie

Good-bye! a kind good-bye, I bid you now, my friend, And though ’tis sad to speak the word, To destiny I bend And though it be decreed by Fate That we ne’er meet again,

The Aged Pilot Man

On the Erie Canal, it was, All on a summer’s day, I sailed forth with my parents Far away to Albany. From out the clouds at noon that day There came a dreadful storm,

Genius

Genius, like gold and precious stones, Is chiefly prized because of its rarity. Geniuses are people who dash of weird, wild, Incomprehensible poems with astonishing facility, And get booming drunk and sleep in the

Ode to Stephen Bowling Dots, Dec'd

And did young Stephen sicken, And did young Stephen die? And did the sad hearts thicken, And did the mourners cry? No; such was not the fate of Young Stephen Dowling Bots; Though sad