As I was saying . . . (No, thank… Cows weren’t allowed in the trench… As I was saying, our Colonel leap… “Come on, lads!” he shouts, “and w… Then some bally thing seemed to tr…
God dwells in you; in pride and sh… In all you do to blight or bless; In all you are of praise and blame… In beauty or in ugliness. “Divine Creation” —What a fraud!
Said a monkey unto me: “How I’m glad I am not you! See, I swing from tree to tree, Something that you cannot do. In gay greenery I drown;
The lonely sunsets flare forlorn Down valleys dreadly desolate; The lordly mountains soar in scorn As still as death, as stern as fat… The lonely sunsets flame and die;
He used to say: There ain’t a dou… Misfortune is a bitter pill, But if you only pry it out You’ll find there’s good in every… There’s comfort in the worst of wo…
The man above was a murderer, the… And I lay there in the bunk betwe… A weary armful of skin and bone, w… My feet were froze, and the lifele… The little flesh that clung to my…
The leaves are sick and jaundiced,… Drift down the air; December’s sky is sodden grey, Dark with despair; A bleary dawn will light anon
Would it be loss or gain To hapless human—kind If we could feel no pain Of body or of mind? Would it be for our good
If we could roll back History A century, let’s say, And start from there, I’m sure th… Would find things as to—day: In all creation’s cosmic range
First Ghost To sepulcher my mouldy bones I bough a pile of noble stones, And half a year a sculptor spent To hew my marble monument,
After working hard all day In the office, How much worse on homeward way My old cough is! Barney’s Bar is gaily lit,
You’ve heard of Julot the apache,… Montmartre was their hunting—groun… A little chap just like a boy, wit… Yet there was nothing juvenile in… From head to heel as tough as stee…
'A shilling’s worth of quinine, pl… The customer demanded. The druggist went down on his knee… And from a cupboard handed The waiting man a tiny flask:
This year an ocean trip I took, a… And like to get my money’s worth… In spite of Neptune’s nastiness I… Yet felt as fit as if we sailed up… But now that I am home again I’m…
Let poets piece prismatic words, Give me the jewelled joy of birds! What ecstasy moves them to sing? Is it the lyric glee of Spring, The dewy rapture of the rose?