I’ve learned—Of all the friends I… Dame Nature is the best, And to her like a child I run Craving her mother breast To comfort me in soul distress,

Mary and I were twenty—two When we were wed; A well—matched pair, right smart t… The town’s folk said. For twenty years I have been true

Aye, Montecelli, that’s the name. You may have heard of him perhaps. Yet though he never savoured fame, Of those impressionistic chaps, Monet and Manet and Renoir

Throughout my life I see A guiding hand; The pitfalls set for me Were grimly planned. But always when and where

Oh, how good it is to be Foot—loose and heart—free! Just my dog and pipe and I, under… Trail to try and goal to win, whit… Fields to lure a lad afar, clear s…

Fearing that she might go one day With some fine fellow of her choic… I called her from her childish pla… And made a record of her voice. And now that she is truly gone,

It is not power and fame That make success; It is not rank or name Rate happiness. It is not honour due

Softly every night they come To the picture show, That old couple, deaf and dumb In the second row; Wistful watching, hand in hand,

The Moon is like a ping—pong ball… I lean against the orchard wall, And see it soar into the void, A silky sphere of celluloid. Then fairy fire enkindles it,

I bought a cuckoo clock And glad was I To hear its tick and tock, Its dulcet cry. But Jones, whose wife is young

We talked of yesteryears, of trail… Of men who played the game and los… Of mad stampedes, of toil beyond a… Of camp-fire comfort when the day… We talked of sullen nights by moon…

Mumsie and Dad are raven dark And I am lily blonde. ‘Tis strange,’ I once heard nurse… ‘You do not correspond.’ And yet they claim me as their own…

I deem that there are lyric days So ripe with radiance and cheer, So rich with gratitude and praise That they enrapture all the year. And if there is a God b\above,

Before the florid portico I watched the gamblers come and go… While by me on a bench there sat A female in a faded hat; A shabby, shrinking, crumpled crea…

'Why did the lady in the lift Slap that poor parson’s face?' Said Mother, thinking as she snif… Of clerical disgrace. Said Sonny Boy: 'Alas, I know.