• Dorothy Q - by Oliver Wendell Holmes

    Grandmother’s mother: her age, I guess,
    Thirteen summers, or something less;
    Girlish bust, but womanly air;
    Smooth, square forehead with uprolled hair;
    Lips that lover has never kissed;
    Taper fingers and slender wrist;
    Hanging sleeves of stiff brocade;
    So they painted the little maid.

    On her hand a parrot green
    Sits...

  • Poem on the Death of Oliver Cromwell

    Cromwell is dead, and risen; and dead again,

    And risen the third time after he was slain

    No wonder! For he’s messenger of Hell:

    And now he buffets us, now posts to tell

    What’s past; and for one more game new counsel takes

    Of his good friend the Devil, who keeps the stakes.