We pitied him because He lived alone; His tiny cottage was His only own. His little garden had

’Twas up in a land long famed for… Tellus, the smith, had taken to wi… Tellus, the brawny worker in iron,… Saw her and loved her and bore her… Deeming her worthy to queen his ho…

My Dog 'Twas in a pub just off the Stran… When I was in my cups, There passed a bloke with in his h… Two tiny puling pups;

They say that Monte Carlo is A sunny place for shady people; But I’m not in the gambling biz, And sober as a parish steeple. so though this paradisal spot

Said the Door: “She came in With no shadow of sin; Turned the key in the lock, Slipped out of her frock, The robe she liked best

My stretcher is one scarlet stain, And as I tries to scrape it clean… I tell you wot—I’m sick with pain For all I’ve 'eard, for all I’ve… Around me is the 'ellish night,

A pote is sure a goofy guy; He ain’t got guts like you or I To tell the score; He ain’t goy gumption 'nuff to kno… The game of life’s to get the doug…

The Judgement The Judge looked down, his face w… He scratched his ear; The gangster’s moll looked up at h… With eyes of fear.

Oh, it is good to drink and sup, And then beside the kindly fire To smoke and heap the faggots up, And rest and dream to heart’s desi… Oh, it is good to ride and run,

He had the grocer’s counter—stoop, That little man so grey and neat; His moustache had a doleful droop, He hailed me in the slushy street. “I’ve sold my shop,” he said to me…

In idle dream with pipe in hand I looked across the Square, And saw the little chapel stand In eloquent despair. A ruin of the War it was,

This is the end of all my ways, My wanderings on earth, My gloomy and my golden days, My madness and my mirth. I’ve bought ten thousand blades of…

The sheep are in the silver wood, The cows are in the broom; The goats are in the wild mountain And won’t be home by noon. My mother sang that olden tune

Because my overcoat’s in pawn, I choose to take my glass Within a little bistro on The rue du Montparnasse; The dusty bins with bottles shine,

As I go forth from fair to mart With racket ringing, Who would divine that in my heart Mad larks are singing. As I sweet sympathy express,