A pencil, sir; a penny —won’t you… I’m cold and wet and tired, a sorr… Don’t turn your back, sir; take on… I haven’t made a single sale to—ni… Oh, thank you, sir; but take the p…

Bob Briggs went in for Government… And helps to run the State; Some day they say he’ll represent His party in debate: But with punk politics his job,

Worms finer for fishing you couldn… I delved them dismayed from the ve… The rich loam upturning I gathere… big, fat, gleamy earthworms, all r… Thinks I, without waiting, my hoo…

Sea Change I saw a Priest in beetle black Come to our golden beach, And I was taken sore aback Lest he should choose to preach

Hark to the Sourdough story, told… When the pipes are lit and we smok… Into the campfire glow. Rugged are we and hoary, and stati… A genooine Sourdough story

The waves have a story to tell me, As I lie on the lonely beach; Chanting aloft in the pine—tops, The wind has a lesson to teach; But the stars sing an anthem of gl…

An Englishman was Thomas Paine Who bled for liberty; But while his fight was far from v… He died in poverty: Though some are of the sober think…

They turned him loose; he bowed hi… A felon, bent and grey. His face was even as the Dead, He had no word to say. He sought the home of his old love…

Someone’s Mother trails the stree… Wrapt in rotted rags; Broken slippers on her feet Drearily she drags; Drifting in the bitter night,

(Retold in Rhyme) They threw him in a prison cell; He moaned upon his bed. And when he crept from coils of he… “Last night you killed,” they said…

On the tide you ride head high, Like a whale 'mid little fishes; I should envy you as I Help my wife to wash the dishes. Yet frock—coat and stove—pipe hat

To hell with Government I say; I’m sick of all the piddling pack. I’d like to scram, get clean away, And never, nevermore come back. With heart of hope I long to go

If she met him or he met her, I knew that something must occur; For they were just like flint and… To strike the spark of woe and wea… Or like two splinters broken fine,

The night before I left Milan A mob jammed the Cathedral Square… And high the tide of passion ran As politics befouled the air. A seething hell of human strife,

So often in the mid of night I wake me in my bed With utter panic of affright To find my feet are dead; And pace the floor to easy my pain