If you had a friend strong, simple… Who knew your faults and who under… Who believed in the very best of y… And who cared for you as a father… Who would stick by you to the very…

You’ve heard of Julot the apache,… Montmartre was their hunting—groun… A little chap just like a boy, wit… Yet there was nothing juvenile in… From head to heel as tough as stee…

“Give me my daily bread. It seems so odd, When all is done and said, This plea to God. To pray for cake might be

Oh, it is good to drink and sup, And then beside the kindly fire To smoke and heap the faggots up, And rest and dream to heart’s desi… Oh, it is good to ride and run,

Blind Peter Piper used to play All up and down the city; I’d often meet him on my way, And throw a coin for pity. But all amid his sparkling tones

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

To be a bony feed Sourdough You must, by Yukon Law, Have killed a moose, And robbed a sluice, AND BUNKED UP WITH A SQU…

Confound all aberrations which Make men do foolish things, Like buying bracelets for a bitch, Or witless wedding rings. As if we had not woe enough

I told a truth, a tragic truth That tore the sullen sky; A million shuddered at my sooth And anarchist was I. Red righteousness was in my word

Old Man Death’s a lousy heel who… Let Graveyard yawn and doom down… But when the sky with rapture ring… Then Old Man Death grins evilly,… Jack Duval was my chosen pal in t…

For failure I was well equipped And should have come to grief, By atavism grimly gripped, A fool beyond belief. But lo! the Lord was good to me,

I know a garden where the lilies g… And one who lingers in the sunshin… She is than white—stoled lily far… And oh, her eyes are heaven—lit wi… I know a garret, cold and dark and…

This is the law of the Yukon, and… “Send not your foolish and feeble;… Strong for the red rage of battle;… Send me men girt for the combat, m… Swift as the panther in triumph, f…

From wrath—red dawn to wrath—red d… The guns have brayed without abate… And now the sick sun looks upon The bleared, blood—boltered fields… As if it loathed to rise again.

In Paris on a morn of May I sent a radio transalantic To catch a steamer on the way, But oh the postal fuss was frantic… They sent me here, they sent me th…