Out of the wood my White Knight c… His eyes were bright with a bitter… As I clung to his stirrup leather… For I was only a dreaming lad, Yet oh, what a wonderful faith I…

I’ve sung of Violet de Vere, that… Of Gertie of the Diamond Tooth,… And Maye Lamore,—at eighty—four… That in my wild and wooly youth I… And Klondike Kit, and Gumboot Su…

Grimy men with picks and shovels Who in darkness sweat unseen, Climb from out your lousy hovels, Build a palace for the Queen; Praise the powers that be for givi…

From out her shabby rain—coat pock… The little Jew girl in the train Produced a dinted silver locket With pasted in it portraits twain. “These are my parents, sir” she sa…

O Sacred Muse, my lyre excuse! — My verse is vagrant singing; Rhyme I invoke for simple folk Of penny—wise upbringing: For Grannies grey to paste away

There was Claw—fingered Kitty and… When unto them in the Long, Long… Bearing his prize of a black fox p… His cheeks were blanched as the fl… Deep in their dark, sin—calcined p…

An olive fire’s a lovely thing; Somehow it makes me think of Spri… As in my grate it over—spills With dancing flames like daffodils… They flirt and frolic, twist and t…

Dusting my books I spent a busy d… Not ancient toes, time—hallowed an… but modern volumes, classics in th… whose makers now are numbered with… Men of a generation more than mine…

Lolling on a bank of thyme Drunk with Spring I made this rhy… Though peoples perish in defeat, And races suffer to survive, The sunshine never was so sweet,

“The aristocratic ne’er—do—well in… into the ranks of the Royal North… Hark to the ewe that bore him: “What has muddied the strain? Never his brothers before him

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

I sing no idle songs of dalliance… No dreams Elysian inspire my rhym… I have no Celia to enchant my lay… No pipes of Pan have set my heart… I am no wordsmith dripping gems di…

What guts he had, the Dago lad Who fought that Frenchman grim wi… For nigh an hour they milled like… And mauled the mat in rare old sty… Then up and launched like catapult…

God gave you guts: don’t let Him… Brace up, be worthy of His giving… The road’s a rut, the sky’s a frow… I know you’re plumb fed up with li… Fate birches you, and wry the rod…

There were twin artists A. and B. Who painted pictures two, And hung them in my galley For everyone to view; The one exhibited by A.