Here in this dim, dull, double-bed… I play the father to a brace of bo… Ailing but apt for every sort of n… Bedfast but brilliant yet with hea… Roden, the Irishman, is ‘sieven p…

Midsummer midnight skies, Midsummer midnight influences and… The shining, sensitive silver of t… Touched with the strange-hued blaz… And all so solemnly still I seem…

Above the Crags that fade and glo… Starts the bare knee of Arthur’s… Ridged high against the evening bl… The Old Town rises, street on str… With lamps bejewelled, straight ah…

‘Liza’s old man’s perhaps a little… ‘Liza’s old woman’s prone to booze… But ‘Liza deems herself a perfect… And proves it in her feathers and… For ’Liza has a bloke her heart t…

In the year that’s come and gone,… Stooping slowly, gave us heart, an… In the year that’s coming on, thou… We at least will not forget aught… In the year that’s come and gone,…

An ill March noon; the flagstones… An all-round east wind volleying s… St. Martin’s Steps, where every v… Lingers to buffet, or sneap, the p… And in the gutter, squelching a ro…

Life is bitter. All the faces o… Young and old, are gray with trava… Must we only wake to toil, to tire… In the sun, among the leaves, upon… Slumber stills to dreamy death the…

The Artist muses at his ease, Contented that his work is done, And smiling-smiling!-as he sees His crowd collecting, one by one. Alas! his travail’s but begun!

O Falmouth is a fine town with sh… And I wish from my heart it’s the… I wish from my heart I was far aw… Sitting in my parlor and talking t… For it’s home, dearie home-it’s ho…

Where forlorn sunsets flare and fa… On desolate sea and lonely sand, Out of the silence and the shade What is the voice of strange comma… Calling you still, as friend calls…

A LATE lark twitters from the qu… And from the west, Where the sun, his day’s work ende… Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, gray city

Beside the idle summer sea, And in the vacant summer days, Light Love came fluting down the… Where you were loitering with me. Who have not welcomed even as we,

Fill a glass with golden wine, And the while your lips are wet Set your perfume unto mine, And forget. Every kiss we take and give

The gaunt brown walls Look infinite in their decent mean… There is nothing of home in the no… The fulsome fire. The atmosphere