#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
He used to say: There ain’t a dou… Misfortune is a bitter pill, But if you only pry it out You’ll find there’s good in every… There’s comfort in the worst of wo…
If we could roll back History A century, let’s say, And start from there, I’m sure th… Would find things as to—day: In all creation’s cosmic range
'Why did the lady in the lift Slap that poor parson’s face?' Said Mother, thinking as she snif… Of clerical disgrace. Said Sonny Boy: 'Alas, I know.
My brother Jim’s a millionaire, while I have scarce a penny; His face is creased with lines of… While my mug hasn’t any. With inwardness his eyes are dim,
Hot digitty dog! Now, ain’t it qu… I’ve been abroad for over a year; Seen a helluva lot since then, Killed, I reckon, a dozen men; Six was doubtful, but six was sure…
It’s good the great green earth to… Where sights of awe the soul inspi… But oh, it’s best, the coming home… The crackle of one’s own hearth—fi… You’ve hob—nobbed with the solemn…
Stupidity, woe’s anodyne, Be kind and comfort me in mine; Smooth out the furrows of my brow, Make me as carefree as a cow, Content to sleep and eat and drink
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
The same old sprint in the morning… Chained all day to the same old de… Posting the same old greasy books,… Oh, how will I manage to stick it… We’ve bidden good—bye to life in a…
A pote is sure a goofy guy; He ain’t got guts like you or I To tell the score; He ain’t goy gumption 'nuff to kno… The game of life’s to get the doug…
Sky’s a—waxin’ grey, Got to be a—goin’; Gittin’ on my way, Where? I ain’t a—knowin’. Fellers, no more jokes,
Black ants have made a musty mound My purple pine tree under, And I am often to be found, Regarding it with wonder. Yet as I watch, somehow it;s odd,
We have no heart for civil strife, Our burdens we prefer to bear; We long to live a peaceful life And claim of happiness our share. If only to be clothed and fed
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
What man has not betrayed Some sacred trust? If haply you are made Of honest dust, Vaunt not of glory due,