#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
When young I was an Atheist, Yea, pompous as a pigeon No opportunity I missed To satirize religion. I sneered at Scripture, scoffed a…
For all good friends who care to r… here let me lyre my living creed .… One: you may deem me Pacifist, For I’ve no sympathy with strife. Like hell I hate the iron fist,
Oh darling Eric, why did you For my fond affection sue, And then with surgeons artful aid Transform yourself into a maid? So now in petticoats you go
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…
I never could imagine God: I don’t suppose I ever will. Beside His altar fire I nod With senile drowsiness but still In old of age as sight grows dim
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
There once was a limpet puffed wit… Who said to the ribald sea: “It isn’t I who cling to the rock… It’s the rock that clings to me; It’s the silly old rock who hugs m…
The Spanish women don’t wear slac… Because their hips are too enormou… 'Tis true each bulbous bosom lacks No inspiration that should warm us… But how our ardor seems to freeze
Where are the dames I used to kno… In Dawson in the days of yore? Alas, it’s fifty years ago, And most, I guess, have “gone bef… The swinging scythe is swift to mo…
Sweet maiden, why disguise The beauty of your eyes With glasses black? Although I’m well aware That you are more than fair,
He took the grade in second —quite… Dizzy and dangerous, yet how subli… The road went up and up; it curved… The mountain and the gorge grew mo… He drove serenely, with no hint of…
The God of Scribes looked down an… The bitter band of seven, Who had outraged his holy law And lost their hope of Heaven: Came Villon, petty thief and pimp…
The world is sadly sick, they say, And plagued by woe and pain. But look! How looms my garden gay… With blooms in golden reign! With lyric music in the air,
Day after day behold me plying My pen within an office drear; The dullest dog, till homeward hie… Then lo! I reign a king of cheer. A throne have I of padded leather…
Because my overcoat’s in pawn, I choose to take my glass Within a little bistro on The rue du Montparnasse; The dusty bins with bottles shine,