What d’ye think, lad; what d’ye th… As the roaring crowds go by? As the banners flare and the brass… And the great guns rend the sky? As the women laugh like they’d all…

I’m just a mediocre man Of no high—brow pretence; A comfortable life I plan With care and commonsense. I do the things most people do,

When I am dead I will not care Forever more, If sky be radiantly fair Or tempest roar. If my life—hoard in sin be spent,

That boy I took in the car last n… With the body that awfully sagged… And the lips blood—crisped, and th… And the poor hands folded and cold… Oh, I’ve thought and I’ve thought…

I am a Day . . . My sky is grey, My wind is wild, My sea high—piled: In year of days the first

I took the clock down from the she… “At eight,” said I, “I shoot myse… It lacked a minute of the hour, And as I waited all a—cower, A skinful of black, boding pain,

Never knew Jim, did you? Our boy… Bless you, there was the likely la… Supple and straight and long of li… Clean as a whistle, and just as gl… Always laughing, wasn’t he, dad?

I had a friend, a breezy friend I liked an awful lot; And in his company no end Of happiness I got. We clicked in temper, taste and mo…

Ah me! How hard is destiny! If we could only know. . . . I bought my son from Sicily A score of years ago; I haled him from our sunny vale

'Tis true my garments threadbare a… And sorry poor I seem; But inly I am richer far Than any poet’s dream. For I’ve a hidden life no one

I told a truth, a tragic truth That tore the sullen sky; A million shuddered at my sooth And anarchist was I. Red righteousness was in my word

I used to think a pot of ink Held magic in its fluid, And I would ply a pen when I Was hoary a a Druid; But as I scratch my silver thatch

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

My Boss keeps sporty girls, they… His belly’s big with cheer. He squanders in a single day What I make in a year. For I must toil with bloody sweat…

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…