We talked of yesteryears, of trail… Of men who played the game and los… Of mad stampedes, of toil beyond a… Of camp-fire comfort when the day… We talked of sullen nights by moon…

So often in the mid of night I wake me in my bed With utter panic of affright To find my feet are dead; And pace the floor to easy my pain

You want me to tell you a story, a… Of our thin red kharki 'eroes, out… Out there where the bombs are bust… and the cannons like 'ell—doors sl… Just order another drink, boys, an…

When I was boxing in the ring In 'Frisco back in ninety—seven, I used to make five bucks a fling To give as good as I was given. But when I felt too fighting gay,

“Tell Annie I’ll be home in time To help her with her Christmas—tr… That’s what he wrote, and hark! th… Of Christmas bells, and where is… And how the house is dark and sad,

My poem may be yours indeed In melody and tone, If in its rhythm you can read A music of your own; If in its pale woof you can weave

Upon his way to rob a Bank He paused to watch a fire; Though crowds were pressing rank o… He pushed a passage nigher; Then sudden heard, piercing and wi…

It’s fine to have a blow—out in a… With terrapin and canvas—back and… To enjoy the flowers and music, wa… Smoke a choice cigar, and sip the… It’s bully in a high—toned joint t…

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.

Of all the boys with whom I fough… In Africa and Sicily, Bill was the bravest of the lot In our dare—devil Company. That lad would rather die than yie…

‘Ave you seen Bill’s mug in the N… ‘E’s gyned the Victoriar Cross, t… Little Bill wot would grizzle and… If you ‘it ’im a swipe on the jawr… ‘E’s slaughtered the Kaiser’s men…

Says Bauldy MacGreegor frae Gles… “That’s whit I hate maist aboot f… Noo jist hae a keek at yon ferm—ho… Weel, think o’ it, doon in the dun… A’ hell’s fairly belchin’ oot yonn…

Sky’s a—waxin’ grey, Got to be a—goin’; Gittin’ on my way, Where? I ain’t a—knowin’. Fellers, no more jokes,

The Moon is like a ping—pong ball… I lean against the orchard wall, And see it soar into the void, A silky sphere of celluloid. Then fairy fire enkindles it,

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