Says Gerald Massey: ‘When I writ… Of souls of the departed guides my… How strange that poems cumbering o… Penned by immortal parts, have non…

Erected to 'Boss’ Shepherd by the… Good folk he lived and moved among… Guarded on either hand by the poli… With soldiers in his front and in…

As Death was a-riding out one day… Across Mount Carmel he took his w… Where he met a mendicant monk, Some three or four quarters drunk, With a holy leer and a pious grin,

'Tis the census enumerator A-singing all forlorn: It’s ho! for the tall potater, And ho! for the clustered corn. The whiffle-tree bends in the bree…

Of life’s elixir I had writ, when… (Pray Heaven it spared him who th… Settled upon my senses with so dee… A stupefaction that men thought me… The centuries stole by with noisel…

O Buddha, had you but foreknown The vices of your priesthood It would have made you twist and m… As any wounded beast would. You would have damned the entire l…

Well, James McMillan Shafter, yo… At least you were when last I kne… And if the people since have made… I did not notice it. I’ve much to… Without endeavoring to follow, thr…

To Parmentier Parisians raise A statue fine and large: He cooked potatoes fifty ways, Nor ever led a charge. '_Palmam qui meruit’_-the rest

Hasten, children, black and white Celebrate the yearly rite. Every pupil plant a tree: It will grow some day to be Big and strong enough to bear

‘Authority, authority!’ they shout Whose minds, not large enough to h… Some chance opinion ever entertain… By dogma billeted upon their brain… ‘Ha!’ they exclaim with choreatic…

Fear not in any tongue to call Upon the Lord-He’s skilled in all… But if He answereth my plea He speaketh one unknown to me.

In that fair city, Ispahan, There dwelt a problematic man, Whose angel never was released, Who never once let out his beast, But kept, through all the seasons’…

O, hadst thou died when thou wert… When at thy feet a nation knelt To sob the gratitude it felt And thank the Saviour of the Stat… Gods might have envied thee thy fa…

It is pleasant to think, as I’m w… A-drying along my paper, That a monument fine will surely b… When death has extinguished my tap… From each rhyming scribe of the jo…

Sleep fell upon my senses and I d… Long years had circled since my li… The world was different, and all t… Remote and strange, like noises to… And one great Voice there was; an…