As I sat by my baby’s bed That’s open to the sky, There fluttered round and round my… A radiant butterfly. And as I wept —of hearts that ach…

“Let’s make him a sailor,” said F… “And he will adventure the sea.” “A soldier,” said Mother, “is rat… What I would prefer him to be.” “A lawyer,” said Father, “would p…

He’s yonder, on the terrace of the… The little wizened Spanish man, I… He’s sitting with his Pernod on h… He’s staring at the passers with h… He never takes his piercing eyes f…

I wish that I could understand The moving marvel of my Hand; I watch my fingers turn and twist, The supple bending of my wrist, The dainty touch of finger—tip,

If dogs could speak, O Mademoisel… What funny stories they could tell… For instance, take your little “pe… How awkward if the dear could spea… How sad for you and all of us,

Enthusiastic was the crowd That hailed him with delight; The wine was bright, the laughter… And glorious the night. But when at dawn he drove away

Clemenceau His frown brought terror to his fo… But now in twilight of his days The pure perfection of a rose Can kindle rapture in his gaze.

The same old sprint in the morning… Chained all day to the same old de… Posting the same old greasy books,… Oh, how will I manage to stick it… We’ve bidden good—bye to life in a…

The Junior God looked from his pl… In the conning towers of heaven, And he saw the world through the s… Like a giant golf—ball driven. And because he was bored, as some…

Some poets sing of scenery; Some to fair maids make sonnets sw… A fig for love and greenery, Be mine a song of things to eat. Let brother bards divinely dream,

While for me gapes the greedy grav… It don’t make sense That I should have a crazy crave To paint our fence. Yet that is what I aim to do,

They must not wed the Doctor said… For they were far from strong, And children of their marriage bed Might not live overlong. And yet each eve I saw them pass

He took the grade in second —quite… Dizzy and dangerous, yet how subli… The road went up and up; it curved… The mountain and the gorge grew mo… He drove serenely, with no hint of…

Is it because I’m bent and grey, Though wearing rather well, That I can slickly get away With all the yarns I tell? Is it because my bleary eye