The cow-moose comes to water, and… The net is in the eddy of the stre… The teepee stars the vivid sward w… And in the velvet gloom the fire’s… The night is ripe with quiet, rich…

I never killed a bear because I always thought them critters was So kindo’ cute; Though round my shack they often c… I’d raise my rifle and take aim,

All day long when the shells sail… I stand at the sandbags and take m… But at night, at night I’m a reck… And over the parapet gleams Roman… Romance! Romance! How I’ve dream…

Familiarity some claim Can breed contempt, So from it let it be your aim To be exempt. Let no one exercise his brawn

He stared at me with sad, hurt eye… That drab, untidy man; And though my clients I despise I do the best I can To comfort them with cheerful chat…

“And when I come to die,” he said… “Ye shall not lay me out in state, Nor leave your laurels at my head, Nor cause your men of speech orate… No monument your gift shall be,

I’ve got a little job on 'and, the… At seven by the Captain’s watch I… I wants to 'ave it nice and neat,… And I 'opes the God of soldier me… Because, you see, it’s somethin’…

I think the things I own and love Acquire a sense of me, That gives them value far above The worth that others see. My chattels are of me a part:

The sunshine seeks my little room To tell me Paris streets are gay; That children cry the lily bloom All up and down the leafy way; That half the town is mad with Ma…

Another day of toil and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all must write; Another page without a stain

So easy 'tis to make a rhyme, That did the world but know it, Your coachman might Parnassus cli… Your butler be a poet. Then, oh, how charming it would be

It is not power and fame That make success; It is not rank or name Rate happiness. It is not honour due

What guts he had, the Dago lad Who fought that Frenchman grim wi… For nigh an hour they milled like… And mauled the mat in rare old sty… Then up and launched like catapult…

We bore him to his boneyard lot One afternoon at three; The clergyman was on the spot To earn his modest fee. We sprinkled on his coffin ld

That Barret, the painter of pictu… And Fanning, the maker of music,… And Harley, the writer of stories… To hark to their talk in the trenc… Of the day when the war would be o…