The first meeting of the American Red Cross was held in Clara Barton’s home in Washington, DC, on this date in 1881.

Barton had learned about the International Red Cross and had performed work similar to the Red Cross during the American Civil War. She had organized nursing stations near battlefields—a man she was tending to died in her arms after he was shot while she was administering care to him; the bullet cut through her sleeve and hit him—and she distributed food and supplies on the front lines.
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When I consider every thing that grows
Holds in perfection but a little moment,
That this huge stage presenteth nought but shows
Whereon the stars in secret influence comment;
When I perceive that men as plants increase,
Cheered and cheque’d even by the self-same sky,
Vaunt in their youthful sap, at height decrease,
And wear their brave state out of memory;
Then the conceit of this inconstant stay
Sets you most rich in youth before my sight,
Where wasteful Time debateth with Decay,
To change your day of youth to sullied night;
And all in war with Time for love of you,
As he takes from you, I engraft you new.—Shakespeare, Sonnet 15

“Neuer before imprinted.” The London printer Thomas Thorpe made sure to boldly put that statement on the title page of his edition of “Shake-speares Sonnets” (seen at top). On this date in 1609, Thorpe announced plans to publish the book: he wrote the following in the Stationer’s Register of soon-to-be published works: “Entred for his copie under the handes of master Wilson and master Lownes Wardenes a booke called Shakespeares sonnettes.” He paid six pence for the copyright.
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Yet each man kills the thing he loves,
By each let this be heard,
Some do it with a bitter look,
Some with a flattering word,
The coward does it with a kiss,
The brave man with a sword!
 
Some kill their love when they are young,
And some when they are old;
Some strangle with the hands of Lust,
Some with the hands of Gold:
The kindest use a knife, because
The dead so soon grow cold.
 
Some love too little, some too long,
Some sell, and others buy;
Some do the deed with many tears,
And some without a sigh:
For each man kills the thing he loves,
Yet each man does not die.—a section of Oscar Wilde’s poem, “The Ballad of Reading Gaol”

No photo, no mugshot, was taken of Oscar Wilde when he was a prisoner at Reading Gaol, even though the prison did document its inmates with photos while Wilde was there, from November 23, 1895, till May 19, 1897.
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