Deeming that I were better dead, “How shall I kill myself?” I said… Thus mooning by the river Seine I sought extinction without pain, When on a bridge I saw a flash

Let poets piece prismatic words, Give me the jewelled joy of birds! What ecstasy moves them to sing? Is it the lyric glee of Spring, The dewy rapture of the rose?

That Tom was poor was sure a pity… Such guts for learning had the lad… He took to Greek like babe to tit… And he was mathematic mad. I loved to prime him up with knowl…

The Judgement The Judge looked down, his face w… He scratched his ear; The gangster’s moll looked up at h… With eyes of fear.

Have ever you heard of the Land o… That dreams at the gates of the da… Alluring it lies at the skirts of… And ever so far away; Alluring it calls: O ye the yoke…

Said a monkey unto me: “How I’m glad I am not you! See, I swing from tree to tree, Something that you cannot do. In gay greenery I drown;

To hell with Government I say; I’m sick of all the piddling pack. I’d like to scram, get clean away, And never, nevermore come back. With heart of hope I long to go

In all the pubs from Troon to Ayr Grandfather’s father would repair With Bobby Burns, a drouthy pair, The glass to clink; And oftenwhiles, when not too “fou…

I will not fight: though proud of… I hold no one worth striving with; And should resentment burn my brea… I deem that silence serves me best… So having not a word to say,

Oh I am neither rich nor poor, No worker I dispoil; Yet I am glad to be secure From servitude and toil. For with my lifelong savings I

Mother focused with a frown The part of me where I sit down. Said she: “Your pants are wearing… Let me sew on a patch for you.” And so she did,—of azure blue.

I never kill a fly because I think that what we have of laws To regulate and civilize Our daily life —we owe to flies. Apropos, I’ll tell you of Choo, t…

I like to look at fishermen And oftentimes I wish One would be lucky now and then And catch a little fish. I watch them statuesquely stand,

I scanned two lines with some surm… As over Keats I chanced to pore: ‘And there I shut her wild, wild… With kisses four.’ Says I: ‘Why was it only four,