An angel was tired of heaven, as h… His halo was tilted sideways, and… So the Master stooped in His pity… For the space of a moon, to the ea… He doffed his celestial garments,…

His face was like a lobster red, His legs were white as mayonnaise: “I’ve had a jolly lunch,” he said, That Englishman of pleasant ways. “Thy do us well at our hotel:

He wrote a letter in his mind To answer one a maid had sent; He sought the fitting word to find… As on by hill and rill he went. By bluebell wood and hawthorn lane…

Being a gaoler I’m supposed To be a hard—boiled guy; Yet never prison walls enclosed A kinder soul than I: Passing my charges precious pills

Full fifty merry maids I heard One summer morn a—singing; And each was like a joyous bird With spring—clear not a—ringing. It was an old—time soldier song

Where once with lads I scoffed my… The landlord’s lass I’ve wed. Now I am lord and master here;— Thank God! the old man’s dead. I stand behind a blooming bar

Full well I trow that when I die Down drops the curtain; Another show is all my eye And Betty Martin. I know the score, and with a smile

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 much admire, I must admit, The man who robs a Bank; It takes a lot of guts and grit, For lack of which I thank The gods: a chap 'twould make of m…

If dogs could speak, O Mademoisel… What funny stories they could tell… For instance, take your little “pe… How awkward if the dear could spea… How sad for you and all of us,

A child saw in the morning skies The dissipated—looking moon, And opened wide her big blue eyes, And cried: “Look, look, my lost b… And clapped her rosy hands with gl…

Something’s wrong in Pigeon—land; 'Tisn’t as it used to be, When the pilgrim, corn in hand, Courted us with laughing glee; When we crooned with pinions furle…

A passion to be free Has ever mastered me; To none beneath the sun Will I bow down,—not one Shall leash my liberty.

Of twin daughters I’m the mother… Lord! how I was proud of them; Each the image of the other, Like two lilies on one stem; But while May, my first—born daug…

I wrote a poem to the moon But no one noticed it; Although I hoped that late or soo… Someone would praise a bit Its purity and grace forlone,