Of bosom friends I’ve had but sev… Despite my years are ripe; I hope they’re now enjoying Heave… Although they’re not the type; Nor, candidly, no more am I,
We’d left the sea—gulls long behin… And we were almost in mid—ocean; The sky was soft and blue and kind… The boat had scarcely any motion; Except that songfully it sped,
I bought my little grandchild Ann A bright balloon, And I was such a happy man To hear her croon. She laughed and babbled with delig…
I count each day a little life, With birth and death complete; I cloister it from care and strife And keep it sane and sweet. With eager eyes I greet the morn,
The chapel looms against the sky, Above the vine—clad shelves, And as the peasants pass it by They cross themselves. But I alone, I grieve to state,
One of the Down and Out—that’s me… Stare and shrink—say! you wouldn’t… Look at my face, it’s crimped and… Don’t seem the sort of man, do I,… Slouching along in smelly rags, a…
The Spirit of the Unborn Babe pe… Peered through the window—pane tha… For, oh, the sky was desolate and… And how the little room was cramme… Except the flirting of the fire th…
Since much has been your mirth And fair your fate, Friend, leave your lot of earth Less desolate. With frailing overdue,
Past ash cans and alley cats, Fetid. overflowing gutters, Leprous lines of rancid flats Where the frowsy linen flutters; With a rattle and a jar,
“Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither’… It fair maks me hamesick,” says P… “And whit did she send ye?” says… As he cockit his rifle and bleezed… “A haggis! A Haggis!” says Priva…
France is the fairest land on eart… Lovely to heart’s desire, And twice a year I span its girth… Its beauty to admire. But when a pub I seek each night,
I met an ancient man who mushed With Peary to the Pole. Said I, “In all that land so hush… What most inspired your soul?” He looked at me with bleary eye,
Here in the Autumn of my days My life is mellowed in a haze. Unpleasant sights are none to clea… Discordant sounds I hardly hear. Infirmities like buffers soft
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 —…
Clorinda met me on the way As I came from the train; Her face was anything but gay, In fact, suggested pain. “Oh hubby, hubby dear!” she cried,