#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
He gave a picture exhibition, Hiring a little empty shop. Above its window: FREE ADMI… Cajoled the passers—by to stop; Just to admire —no need to purchas…
To rest my fagged brain now and th… When wearied of my proper labors, I lay aside my lagging pen And get to thinking on my neighbor… For, oh, around my garret den
To have a business of my own With toil and tears, I wore my fingers to the bone For weary years. With stoic heart, for sordid gold
In stilly grove beside the sea He mingles colours, measures space… A bronze and breezy man is he, Yet peace is in his face. Behold him stand and longly stare,
A bonny bird I found today Mired in a melt of tar; Its silky breast was silver—grey, Its wings were cinnabar. So still it lay right in the way
You ask me what I call Success — It is, I wonder, Happiness? It is not wealth, it is not fame, Nor rank, nor power nor honoured n… It is not triumph in the Arts —
While I am emulating Keats My brother fabrics toilet seats, The which, they say, are works of… Aesthetic features of the mart; So exquisitely are they made
They say that rhyme and rhythm are Outmoded now. I do not know, for I am far From high of brow. But if the twain you take away,
A hundred years is a lot of living I’ve often thought. and I’ll know… Some day if the gods are good in g… And grant me to turn the century. Yet in all my eighty years of bein…
Up in my garret bleak and bare I tilted back on my broken chair, And my three old pals were with me… Hunger and Thirst and Cold; Hunger scowled at his scurvy mate:
My Lady is dancing so lightly, The belle of the Embassy Ball; I lied as I kissed her politely, And hurried away from it all. I’m taxiing up to Montmartre,
To Dawson Town came Percy Brown… A pane of glass was in his eye, an… Upon the shoulder of his coat a le… To rest his deadly rifle when it w… The which it must have often been,…
Where are the dames I used to kno… In Dawson in the days of yore? Alas, it’s fifty years ago, And most, I guess, have “gone bef… The swinging scythe is swift to mo…
“I’m going, Billy, old fellow. Hi… There’s Boches to beat all creati… I’ve fixed the note to your collar… You’ve got to get back to warn 'em… The order came to go forward to a…
We bore him to his boneyard lot One afternoon at three; The clergyman was on the spot To earn his modest fee. We sprinkled on his coffin ld