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This page provides a simple browsing interface for finding entities described by a property and a named value. Other available search interfaces include the page property search, and the ask query builder.

List of results

Days of Opportunity + (<div class="poem"> <p>Opportunities once flew thick and fast,<br /> In years far in the distant past,<br /> You'll know they are here today, instead,<br /> If you read the lives of men that are dead. </p> </div>)
Brown’s Descent or, the Willy-Nilly Slide + (<div class="poem"> <p>Or even thought of standing there<br /> Until the January thaw<br /> Should take the polish off the crust.<br /> He bowed with grace to natural law, </p> </div>)
Get there if you can and see the land you were once proud to own + (<div class="poem"> <p>Or, in friendly fireside circle, sit and listen for the crash <br /> Meaning that the mob has realized something’s up, and start to smash; </p> </div>)
XXII + (<div class="poem"> <p>Or, in friendly fireside circle, sit and listen for the crash <br /> Meaning that the mob has realized something’s up, and start to smash; </p> </div>)
Indignation and Jubilation + (<div class="poem"> <p>Our friend, to us he did confide<br /> That motor cops would have to ride.<br /> No more hiding by the road,<br /> No more chance our friend to goad. </p> </div>)
Our Support + (<div class="poem"> <p>Our labor should always be well directed,<br /> No slighting for cause to be rejected.<br /> Genius may all great works begin,<br /> Labor’s the thing that makes them win. </p> </div>)
The Bridge: VII The Tunnel + (<div class="poem"> <p>Our tongues recant like beaten weather vanes.<br /> This answer lives like verdigris, like hair<br /> Beyond extinction, surcease of the bone;<br /> And repetition freezes—“What </p> </div>)
In a Breath + (<div class="poem"> <p>Outside in the street is the murmur and singing of life in the sun—horses, motors, women trapsing along in flimsy clothes, play of sun-fire in their blood. </p> </div>)
Westward Hoboes + (<div class="poem"> <p>Outside, Toby looked at me in scorn. </p> </div>)
The Motor Road + (<div class="poem"> <p>Over the downs where feed the scattered sheep,<br /> Across the barren uplands, sere and brown,<br /> Through woodlands where the western shades lie deep,<br /> And so at last we turn again toward town. </p> </div>)
Spring in California + (<div class="poem"> <p>O’er the ribboned line of the Great Highway,<br /> Where the wildflower carpet's laid,<br /> Where the poppy opens her golden cup<br /> As a symbol of Spring arrayed. </p> </div>)
Coast to Coast in a Brush Runabout + (<div class="poem"> <p>PERFECTLY ACCEPTABLE. COMPLIMENTS TO PLUCKY MRS. TRINKLE. </p> </div>)
Coast to Coast in a Brush Runabout + (<div class="poem"> <p>PIKE'S PEAK CLIMB POSSIBLE FOR WE ARE AT THE SUMMIT. </p> </div>)
Coast to Coast in a Brush Runabout + (<div class="poem"> <p>PIKES PEAK OR BUST . . . IN A BRUSH </p> </div>)
Automobiling in the West + (<div class="poem"> <p>Passed the night comfortably, and when the road was taken next morning (May 29) at 6 o'clock, the sun was shining and Mr. Gates predicted no rain for the day. </p> </div>)
XXII + (<div class="poem"> <p>Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares — <br /> Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs. </p> </div>)
Get there if you can and see the land you were once proud to own + (<div class="poem"> <p>Perfect pater. Marvellous mater. Knock the critic down who dares — <br /> Very well, believe it, copy; till your hair is white as theirs. </p> </div>)
The Old Homestead + (<div class="poem"> <p>Pictures of those long passed away,<br /> Hung on the walls and watched our play,<br /> They shared with us in all our glee,<br /> Where the old homestead used to be. </p> </div>)
XXII + (<div class="poem"> <p>Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires; <br /> Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires; </p> </div>)
Get there if you can and see the land you were once proud to own + (<div class="poem"> <p>Power-stations locked, deserted, since they drew the boiler fires; <br /> Pylons fallen or subsiding, trailing dead high-tension wires; </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>Quietly, seriously, Claire said, "No, that wasn't accidental. If you touch me again, I'll stop the car and ask you to walk." </p> </div>)
Days of Opportunity + (<div class="poem"> <p>Read Abraham Lincoln, American,<br /> Enshrined in the heart of every man.<br /> He was born honest in humble obscurity,<br /> He made for himself his opportunity. </p> </div>)
Days of Opportunity + (<div class="poem"> <p>Read Horace Greeley, in poverty born,<br /> His name does history's page adorn,<br /> Benjamin Franklin's life and deeds,<br /> Give inspiration for youthful needs. </p> </div>)
The Motor Road + (<div class="poem"> <p>Roaring up hills and winding through ravines,<br /> Gliding past meadows where the grass grows lush,<br /> How else can one grasp half so many scenes?<br /> So let us dawdle though we well might rush. </p> </div>)
Get there if you can and see the land you were once proud to own + (<div class="poem"> <p>Run the whole night through in gumboots, stumble on and gasp for breath, <br /> Terrors drawing close and closer, winter landscape, fox’s death; </p> </div>)
XXII + (<div class="poem"> <p>Run the whole night through in gumboots, stumble on and gasp for breath, <br /> Terrors drawing close and closer, winter landscape, fox’s death; </p> </div>)

Coast to Coast in a Brush Runabout + (<div class="poem"> <p>SUNNY CALIFORNIA-THE END IN THE WEST </p> </div>)
Coast to Coast in a Brush Runabout + (<div class="poem"> <p>SUNNY CALIFORNIA-THE END IN THE WEST </p> </div>)

Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She also remembered how jolly and agreeably heroic the accounts of their mishaps had sounded—a week after they were over. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She burst out, flaring, "Kindly do not touch me!" </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She couldn't deny it. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She drove on a mile and halted again; again halted her attendant. He was keeping a consistent two to four miles behind, she estimated. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She drove on, and prayed that he would of himself leave his uncharitable hosts at the next town. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She found her father dressed. He did not know whether or not he wanted to go on. "I seem to have lost my grip on things. I used to be rather decisive. But we'll try it one more day, if you like," he said. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She had to admit it. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She held the telegram, flipping her fingers against one end of it as she debated. She remembered how the wide world had flowed toward her over the hood of the Gomez all day. She wrote in answer: </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She knew the exaltation of starting out in the fresh morning for places she had never seen, without the bond of having to return at night. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She looked from her hulking car to his mechanical flea. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She noticed the sign on the air-hose of the garage—"Free Air." </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She obeyed. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She ran the car to the side of the road. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She rapped again. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She rarely lost her way. She was guided by the friendly trail signs—those big red R's and L's on fence post and telephone pole, magically telling the way from the Mississippi to the Pacific. </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She rubbed her cheek against the comfortable, rough, heather-smelling shoulder of her father's coat, while he patted her and smiled, "Good girl! I better get out and help." </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She sat straight, shook her head. "Nope. I'll do it. And I'm not going to insist on being heroic any longer. I'll get a farmer to pull us out." </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She stopped the engine, beamed at him—there in the dust, on the quiet hilltop. He said as apologetically as though he had been at fault, "Distributor got dry. Might give it a little oil about once in six months." </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She tried to be important: "Two rooms with bath, please." </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She was certain that she was not going to drive to Seattle. She wasn't going to drive anywhere! She was going to freight the car back to Minneapolis, and herself go back by train—Pullman!—drawing-room! </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She was off before him. Presently she exclaimed to Mr. Boltwood: "You know—just occurs to me—it's rather curious that our young friend should be so coincidental as to come along just when we needed him." </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She was surprised to see the youngster blush. His clear skin flooded. His engaging smile came again, and he hesitated, "Let me pull you out." </p> </div>)
Free Air + (<div class="poem"> <p>She watched the hulk of marriage drifting down on her frail speed-boat of aspiration, and steered in desperate circles. </p> </div>)
XXII + (<div class="poem"> <p>Shut up talking, charming in the best suits to be had in town, <br /> Lecturing on navigation while the ship is going down. </p> </div>)