Dark an' stormy may come de wedder;
I jines dis he-male an' dis she-male togedder.
Let none, but Him dat makes de thunder,
Put dis he-male an' dis she-male asunder.
I darfore 'nounce you bofe de same.
Be good, go 'long, an' keep up yo' name.
De broomstick's jumped, de worl's not wide.
She's now yo' own. Salute yo' bride!

Darest thou now, O Soul,
Walk out with me toward the Unknown Region,
Where neither ground is for the feet, nor any path to follow?

No map, there, nor guide,
Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand,
Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land.

I know it not, O Soul;
Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us,--
All waits, undreamed of, in that region--that inaccessible land.

Till, when the tie is loosened,
All but the ties eternal, Time and Space,
Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bound us.

D ANTE A LIGHIERI , if I jest and lie,
You in such lists might run a tilt with me:
I get my dinner, you your supper, free;
And if I bite the fat, you suck the fry;
I shear the cloth and you the teazel ply;
If I've a strut, who 's prouder than you are?
If I'm foul-mouthed, you're not particular;
And you're turned Lombard, even if Roman I.
So that, 'fore Heaven! if either of us flings
Much dirt at the other, he must be a fool:
For lack of luck and wit we do these things.
Yet if you want more lessons at my school,

D ANTE , a sigh that rose from the heart's core
Assailed me, while I slumbered, suddenly:
So that I woke o' the instant, fearing sore
Lest it came thither in Love's company:
Till, turning, I beheld the servitor
Of Lady Lagia: " Help me," so said he,
" O help me, Pity." Though he said no more,
So much of Pity's essence entered me,
That I was ware of Love, those shafts he wields
A-whetting, and preferred the mourner's quest
To him, who straightway answered on this wise:
" Go tell my servant that the lady yields,

Dank , limber verses, stuft with lakeside sedges,
And propt with rotten stakes from broken hedges.

The dandelion stares
In the yellow sunlight.
How very still it is!
When it is old and grey,
I blow its white hair away,
And leave it with a bald head.

Frankie was a good girl
As everybody knows.
She paid a hundred dollar bill
For a suit of Albert's clothes,
Just because she loved him [so].

Frankie went down to the bar-room;
She called for a bottle of beer;
She whispered to the bartender:
Has Albert he been here?
He is my man and he won't come home. "

" I am not a-going to tell you no story;
I am not a-going to tell you no lie;
He left here about an hour ago
With a girl called Alice Fry;
He is your man and he won't come home. "

Frankie went to the house

Damon forbear, and don't disturb your Muse,
You can't correct the coxcombs you accuse,
Some partial judges of their harmless rage
Out of bravado rashly do engage,
But many pens, like Wortley Montague
Take an affront, and yet beg pardon too.
Others I know, who in their amorous fit,
Blaspheme Parnassus in their bawdy wit.
This aims at satire, and in horrid rhymes
Himself exposes, not the vicious times:
He shows his malice, but he cannot bite;
Others strain hard for ev'ry line they write,
And after all the throes they've had, 't'as been

The damned ship lurched and slithered. Quiet and quick
My cold gorge rose; the long sea rolled; I knew
I must think hard of something, or be sick;
And could think hard of only one thing — you !
You, you alone could hold my fancy ever!
And with you memories come, sharp pain, and dole.
Now there's a choice — heartache or tortured liver!
A sea-sick body, or a you-sick soul!

Do I forget you? Retchings twist and tie me,

D AMIS , an author cold and weak,
— Thinks as a critic he's divine;
Likely enough; we often make
— Good vinegar of sorry wine.