#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
Her smile ineffably is sweet, Devinely she is slim; Yet oh how weary are her feet, How aches her every limb! Thank God it’s near to closing ti…
I like to think that when I fall, A rain—drop in Death’s shoreless… This shelf of books along the wall… Beside my bed, will mourn for me. Regard it. . . . Aye, my taste is…
Behold! I’m old; my hair is white… My eighty years are in the offing, And sitting by the fire to—night I sip a grog to ease my coughing. It’s true I’m raucous as a rook,
There’s a drip of honeysuckle in t… There’s old Martin jogging homewa… There are cherry petals falling, a… And a score of larks (God bless '… For you see I am not really there…
If fortune had not granted me To suck the Muse’s teats, I think I would have liked to be A sweeper of the streets; And city gutters glad to groom,
The leaves are falling one and one… Each like a life to me, As over—soonly in the sun They spiral goldenly: So airily and warily
I never thought that Bill could s… A proper prayer; 'Twas more in his hard—bitten way To cuss and swear; Yet came the night when Baby Ted
Grand—daughter of the Painted Nai… As if they had been dipped in gore… I’d like to set you lugging pails And make you scrub the kitchen flo… I’m old and crotchety of course,
Heed me, feed me, I am hungry, I… Boughs of balsam, slabs of cedar,… Heap them on me, let me hug them t… Roaring, soaring up to heaven as a… Bring me knots of sunny maple, sil…
A beggar in the street I saw, Who held a hand like withered claw… As cold as clay; But as I had no silver groat To give, I buttoned up my coat
The Men of Seville are, they say, The laziest of Spain. Consummate artists in delay, Allergical to strain; Fr if you have a job for them,
Rosemary has of dolls a dozen, Yet she disdains them all; While Marie Rose, her pauper cous… Has just an old rag doll. But you should see her mother it,
What have we done, Oh Lord, that… Are evil starred? How have we erred and sinned to be So scourged and scarred? Lash us, Oh Lord, with scorpion w…
O God, take the sun from the sky! It’s burning me, scorching me up. God, can’t You hear my cry? Water! A poor, little cup! It’s laughing, the cursed sun!
Said darling daughter unto me: “oh Dad, how funny it would be If you had gone to Mexico A score or so of years ago. Had not some whimsey changed your…