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

Miss Don’t—do—this and Don’t—do—t… Has such a sunny smile You cannot help but chuckle at Her cuteness and her guile. Her locks are silken floss of gold…

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…

And when I come to the dim trail—… I who have been Life’s rover, This is all I would ask, my frien… Over and over and over: A little space on a stony hill

My brother Tim has children ten, While I have none. Maybe that’s why he’s toiling when To ease I’ve won. But though I would some of his br…

Fat lady, in your four—wheeled cha… Dolled up to beat the band, At me you arrogantly stare With gold lorgnette in hand. Oh how you differ from the dame

Now Fireman Flynn met Hank the F… “Let’s leave,” says he, “the lousy… I’m fed up to the molar mark with… I feel the bloody barnacles a—cark… Let’s hit the hard—boiled North a…

I have some friends, some worthy f… And worthy friends are rare: These carpet slippers on my feet, That padded leather chair; This old and shabby dressing—gown,

'God’ is composed of letters three… But if you put an 'l’ Before the last it seems to me A synonym for Hell. For all of envy, greed and hate

He asked the lady in the train If he might smoke: she smiled cons… So lighting his cigar and fain To talk he puffed away content, Reflecting: how delightful are

The lady at the corner wicket Sold me a stamp, I stooped to lic… And on the envelope to stick it; A spinster lacking girlish grace, Yet sweetly sensitive, her face

“I’m taking pen in hand this night… My poor old fingers tremble so, my… And even with my glasses on I’m t… You’d little know your mother, boy… You mind how brisk and bright I w…

The poppies that in Spring I sow, In rings of radiance gleam and glo… Like lords and ladies gay. A joy are they to dream beside, As in the air of eventide

What was the blackest sight to me Of all that campaign? A naked woman tied to a tree With jagged holes where her breast… Rotting there in the rain.

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,