When you come home I’ll not be ro… To welcome you. They’ll take you to a grassy mound So neat and new; Where I’ll be sleeping—O so sound…
Oh you who have daring deeds to te… And you who have felt Ambition’s… Have you heard of the louse who lo… In the golden hair of a queen? He sighed all day and he sighed al…
Because I have no garden and No pence to buy, Before the flower shop I stand And sigh. The beauty of the Springtide spil…
My worldly wealth I hoard in albu… My life collection of rare postage… My room is cold and bare as you ca… My coat is old and shabby as a tra… Yet more to me than balances in ba…
What are we fighting for, We fellows who go to war? fighting for Freedom’s sake! (You give me the belly—ache.) Freedom to starve or slave!
Of Poetry I’ve been accused, But much more often I have not; Oh, I have been so much amused By those who’ve put me on the spot… And measured me by rules above
I am a Day . . . My sky is grey, My wind is wild, My sea high—piled: In year of days the first
I have a tiny piney wood; my trees are only fifty, Yet give me shade and solitude For they are thick and thrifty. And every day to me they fling
We’d left the sea—gulls long behin… And we were almost in mid—ocean; The sky was soft and blue and kind… The boat had scarcely any motion; Except that songfully it sped,
Mary and I were twenty—two When we were wed; A well—matched pair, right smart t… The town’s folk said. For twenty years I have been true
Having an aged hate of height I forced myself to climb the Towe… Yet paused at every second flight Because my heart is scant of power… Then when I gained the sloping su…
The harridan who holds the inn At which I toss a pot, Is old and uglier than sin,— I’m glad she knows me not. Indeed, for me it’s hard to think,
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 Wounded Canadian Speaks) My leg? It’s off at the knee. Do I miss it? Well, some. You se… I’ve had it since I was born; And lately a devilish corn.
I wonder if successful men Are always happy? And do they sing with gusto when Springtime is sappy? Although I am of snow—white hair