'Nay; I don’t need a hearing aid’ I told Mama—in—law; 'For if I had I’d be afraid Of your eternal jaw; Although at me you often shout,

I love to watch my seven cows In meads of buttercups abrowse, With guilded knees; But even more I love to see Them chew the cud so tranquilly

Men of the High North, the wild s… Islands of opal float on silver se… Swift splendors kindle, barbaric,… Pale ports of amber, golden argosi… Ringed all around us the proud pea…

I keep collecting books I know I’ll never, never read; My wife and daughter tell me so, And yet I never head. “Please make me,” says some wistfu…

And so when he reached my bed The General made a stand: “My brave young fellow,” he said, “I would shake your hand.” So I lifted my arm, the right,

I sought Him on the purple seas, I sought Him on the peaks aflame; Amid the gloom of giant trees And canyons lone I called His nam… The wasted ways of earth I trod:

Lord, let me live, that more and m… Your wonder world I may adore; With every dawn to grow and grow Alive to graciousness aglow; And every eve in beauty see

He was an old prospector with a vi… He asked me for a grubstake, and t… He hinted of a hidden trove, and w… To question his veracity, this is… “I do not seek the copper streak,…

All day he lay upon the sand When summer sun was bright, And let the grains sift through hi… With infantile delight; Just like a child, so soft and fai…

I looked down on a daisied lawn To where a host of tiny eyes Of snow and gold from velvet shone And made me think of starry skies. I looked up to the vasty night

There’s a cry from out the lonelin… Do you hear it, do you fear it, yo… You’re a—sobbing in your sleep, de… Do you hear the Little Voices all… All a—begging me to leave you. Da…

How often do I wish I were What people call a character; A ripe and cherubic old chappie Who lives to make his fellows happ… With in his eyes a merry twinkle,

“Miss Rosemary,” I dourly said, “Our balance verges on the red, We must cut down our overhead. One of the staff will have to go. There’s Mister Jones, he’s mighty…

I’ve often wondered why Old chaps who choose to die In evil passes, Before themselves they slay, Invariably they