How have you left the ancient love That bards of old enjoyed in you! The languid strings do scarcely move! The sound is forced, the notes are few!

Like a fiend in a cloud, With howling woe, After night I do crowd, And with night will go; I turn my back to the east, From whence comforts have increased; For…

Damn sneerers!

My silks and fine array, My smiles and languished air, By love are driv'n away; And mournful lean Despair Brings me yew to deck my grave: Such end true lovers …

The Jews have never produced a true poet. Heinrich Heine reached the point where he duped himself into a poet, and was rewarded by his versified lies being set…

In the past the mood of the comic postcard could enter into the central stream of literature, and jokes barely different from McGill's could casually be uttere…

It may happen in the next hundred years that the English novelists of the present day will come to be valued as we now value the artists and craftsmen of the l…