#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
He sleeps beside me in the bed; Upon my breast I hold his head; Oh how I would that we were wed, For he sails in the morning. I wish I had not been so kind;
My flask of wine was ruby red And swift I ran my sweet to see; With eyes that snapped delight I… “How mad with love a lad can be!” The moon was laughing overhead;
The Greatest Writer of to—day (With Maupassant I almost set him… Said to me in a weary way, The last occasion that I met him: “Old chap, this world is more and…
They dumped it on the lonely road, Then like a streak they sped; And as along the way I strode I thought that it was dead: And then I saw that yelping pup
The English and the French were m… Upon the field of future battle; The foes were formidably set And waiting for the guns to rattle… When from the serried ranks of Fr…
Why am I full of joy although It drizzles on the links? Why am I buying Veuve Cliquot, And setting up the drinks? Why stand I like a prince amid
Once, when a boy, I killed a cat. I guess it’s just because of that A cat evokes my tenderness, And takes so kindly my caress. For with a rich, resonant purr
I think the things I own and love Acquire a sense of me, That gives them value far above The worth that others see. My chattels are of me a part:
I never killed a bear because I always thought them critters was So kindo’ cute; Though round my shack they often c… I’d raise my rifle and take aim,
The red—roofed house of dream desi… Looks three ways on the sea; For fifty years I’ve made it mine… And held it part of me. The pines I planted in my youth
I strolled up old Bonanza, where… A—purpose to revisit the old claim… I kept thinking mighty sadly of th… And the lads who once were with me… Poor boys, they’re down—and—outers…
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…
The harridan who holds the inn At which I toss a pot, Is old and uglier than sin,— I’m glad she knows me not. Indeed, for me it’s hard to think,
'Twas in a pub in Battersea They call the “Rose and Crown,” Quite suddenly, it seemed to me, The Lord was looking down; The Lord was looking from above,
Could Fate ordain a lot for me Beyond all human ills, I think that I would choose to be A shephard of the hills; With shaggy cloak and cape where s…