I’ve sung of Violet de Vere, that… Of Gertie of the Diamond Tooth,… And Maye Lamore,—at eighty—four… That in my wild and wooly youth I… And Klondike Kit, and Gumboot Su…

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,

There were twin artists A. and B. Who painted pictures two, And hung them in my galley For everyone to view; The one exhibited by A.

Once, when a boy, I killed a cat. I guess it’s just because of that A cat evokes my tenderness, And takes so kindly my caress. For with a rich, resonant purr

I never thought that Bill could s… A proper prayer; 'Twas more in his hard—bitten way To cuss and swear; Yet came the night when Baby Ted

A hundred people I employed, But when they struck for higher pa… I was so damnably annoyed I told them they could stay away. I simply shut my business down;

God’s truth! these be the bitter t… In vain I sing my sheaf of rhymes… And hold my battered hat for dimes… And then a copper collars me, Barking: “It’s begging that you b…

A ray of sun strayed softly round, For something to caress, Until a resting place it found Of joy and thankfulness; 'Twas Minette, our Angora cat,

I scanned two lines with some surm… As over Keats I chanced to pore: ‘And there I shut her wild, wild… With kisses four.’ Says I: ‘Why was it only four,

Said he: “I’ll dive deep in the P… And write a book of direful days When summer skies were overcast With smoke of humble hearths ablaz… When War was rampant in the land,

Alas! I see that thrushes three Are ravishing my old fig tree, In whose green shade I smoked my… And waited for the fruit to ripe; From green to purple softly swell

They say that rhyme and rhythm are Outmoded now. I do not know, for I am far From high of brow. But if the twain you take away,

You’ve heard of Belching Billy, l… As punk a chunk of Yukon scum as… A satellite of Soapy Smith, a cap… A slimy tribute—taker from the La… But say, you never heard of how he…

Marie Antoinette They told to Marie Antoinette: “The beggers at your gate Have eyes too sad for tears to wet… And for your pity wait.”

The mule—skinner was Bill Jerome,… Two tinhorns from the dives of No… And as for sunny Southland bound,… The solitude that ringed them roun… Then when the trail crooked crazil…