When, to despoil my native France… With flaming torch and cruel sword And boisterous drums her foeman co… I curse him and his vandal horde! Yet, what avail accrues to her,

To-day, fair Thisbe, winsome girl… Strays o’er the meads where daisie… Or, ling’ring where the brooklets… Laves in the cool, refreshing flow… To-morrow, Thisbe, with a host

One asketh: “Tell me, Myrson, tell me true: What’s the season pleaseth you? Is it summer suits you best, When from harvest toil we rest?

Friend, by the way you hump yourse… And born in old Mizzourah, where… I, too, am a native of that clime,… Has doomed me to an exile far from… And I, who used to climb around a…

What conversazzhyonies wuz I real… For that, you must remember, wuz a… The camp wuz new ‘nd noisy, ’nd on… So fashionable sossiety wuz hardly… There hadn’t been no grand events…

When the world is fast asleep, Along the midnight skies— As though it were a wandering clou… The ghostly dream-ship flies. An angel stands at the dream-ship’…

A bottle tree bloometh in Winkywa… Heigh-ho for a bottle, I say! A snug little berth in that ship… That rocketh the Bottle-Tree babi… Where the Bottle Tree bloometh by…

COBBLER Stork, I am justly wroth, For thou hast wronged me sore; The ash roof-tree that shelters th… Shall shelter thee no more!

When Willie was a little boy, No more than five or six, Right constantly he did annoy His mother with his tricks. Yet not a picayune cared I

Two dreams came down to earth one… From the realm of mist and dew; One was a dream of the old, old da… And one was a dream of the new. One was a dream of a shady lane

TO MISS GRACE KING Down in the old French quarter, Just out of Rampart street, I wend my way At close of day

Krinken was a little child,— It was summer when he smiled. Oft the hoary sea and grim Stretched its white arms out to hi… Calling, “Sun-child, come to me;

Last night, whiles that the curfew… I heard a moder to her dearie sing… “Lollyby, lolly, lollyby.” And presently that chylde did ceas… And on his moder’s breast did fall…

SAILOR You, who have compassed land and s… Now all unburied lie; All vain your store of human lore, For you were doomed to die.

I’m thinking of the wooing That won my maiden heart When he—he came pursuing A love unused to art. Into the drowsy river