Lolling on a bank of thyme Drunk with Spring I made this rhy… Though peoples perish in defeat, And races suffer to survive, The sunshine never was so sweet,
I don’t think men of eighty odd Should let a surgeon operate; Better to pray for peace with God… And reconcile oneself to Fate: At four—score years we really shou…
If you’re up against a bruiser and… Grin. If you’re feeling pretty groggy, a… Grin. Don’t let him see you’re funking,…
I’ve wearied of so many things Adored in youthful days; Music no more my spirit wings, E’en when Master play. For stage and screen I have no he…
When I am old and worse for wear I want to buy a rocking—chair, And set it on a porch where shine The stars of morning—glory vine; With just beyond, a gleam of grass…
Smith, great writer of stories, dr… Fused in his brain-pan, else a bla… Gave him the magical genius touch;… Flat in your face a soul-thought—… Twiddle your heart-strings in his…
Heigh ho! to sleep I vainly try; Since twelve I haven’t closed an… And now it’s three, and as I lie, From Notre Dame to St. Denis The bells of Paris chime to me;
Is it not strange? A year ago to—… With scarce a thought beyond the h… I did my decent job and earned my… Was averagely happy, I’ll be boun… Ay, in my little groove I was con…
I’m crawlin’ out in the mangolds t… Joe, my pal, and a good un (God!… I’m sick o’ seein’ him lyin’ like… I’m crawlin’ out in the beet—field… ’E might 'a bin makin’ munitions —…
He sleeps beside me in the bed; Upon my breast I hold his head; Oh how I would that we were wed, For he sails in the morning. I wish I had not been so kind;
A grey gull hovered overhead, Then wisely flew away. 'In half a jiffy you’ll be dead,' I thought I heard it say; As there upon the railway line,
The Countess sprawled beside the… As naked a she well could be; Indeed her only garments were A “G” string and a brassière Her washerwoman was amazed,
That Barret, the painter of pictu… And Fanning, the maker of music,… And Harley, the writer of stories… To hark to their talk in the trenc… Of the day when the war would be o…
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
We have no aspiration vain For paradise Utopian, And here in our sun—happy Spain, Though man exploit his fellow man, To high constraint we humbly yield…