#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
From out her shabby rain—coat pock… The little Jew girl in the train Produced a dinted silver locket With pasted in it portraits twain. “These are my parents, sir” she sa…
The Greatest Writer of to—day (With Maupassant I almost set him… Said to me in a weary way, The last occasion that I met him: “Old chap, this world is more and…
My Lady is dancing so lightly, The belle of the Embassy Ball; I lied as I kissed her politely, And hurried away from it all. I’m taxiing up to Montmartre,
Mad Maria in the Square Sits upon a wicker chair. When the keeper asks the price Mad Maria counts her lice. No pesito can she pay,
Brave Thackeray has trolled of da… And bounded up five flights of sta… And yet again in mellow vein when… Has dipped his nose in Gascon win… But if I worthy were to sing a ri…
Striving is life, yet life is stri… I fight to live, yet live to fight… The vital urge is in my driving, Yet I must drive with all my migh… Each day a battle, and the fray
I have done with love and lust, I reck not for gold or fame; I await familiar dust These frail fingers to reclaim: Not for me the tiger flame.
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…
A very humble pen I ply Beneath a cottage thatch; And in the sunny hours I try To till my cabbage patch; And in the gloaming glad am I
In London City I evade For charming Burlington Arcade — For thee in youth I met a maid By name of Mazie, Who lost no time in telling me
Courage mes gars: La guerre est proche. I plant my little plot of beans, I sit beneath my cyprus tree; I do not know what trouble means,
Grand—daughter of the Painted Nai… As if they had been dipped in gore… I’d like to set you lugging pails And make you scrub the kitchen flo… I’m old and crotchety of course,
Because I’ve eighty years and odd… And darkling is my day, I now prepare to meet my God, And for forgiveness pray. Not for salvation is my plea,
I count each day a little life, With birth and death complete; I cloister it from care and strife And keep it sane and sweet. With eager eyes I greet the morn,
Clorinda met me on the way As I came from the train; Her face was anything but gay, In fact, suggested pain. “Oh hubby, hubby dear!” she cried,