My Master is a man of might With manners like a hog; He makes me slave from morn to nig… And treats me like a dog. He thinks there’s nothing on this…

Striving is life, yet life is stri… I fight to live, yet live to fight… The vital urge is in my driving, Yet I must drive with all my migh… Each day a battle, and the fray

(16th January 1949) I thank whatever gods may be For all the happiness that’s mine; That I am festive, fit and free To savour women, wit and wine;

Sez I: My Country calls? Well, l… I grins perlitely and declines wiv… Go, let ‘em plaster every blighted… ’Ere’s ONE they don’t stampede i… Them politicians with their greasy…

I am a Day . . . My sky is grey, My wind is wild, My sea high—piled: In year of days the first

We’ve finished up the filthy war; We’ve won what we were fighting fo… (Or have we? I don’t know). But anyway I have my wish: I’m back upon the old Boul’ Mich’…

To Dawson Town came Percy Brown… A pane of glass was in his eye, an… Upon the shoulder of his coat a le… To rest his deadly rifle when it w… The which it must have often been,…

On the ragged edge of the world I… And the home of the wolf shall be… And a bunch of bones on the boundl… The end of my trail . . . who know… I’m dreaming to—night in the fire—…

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,

I’ve often wondered why Old chaps who choose to die In evil passes, Before themselves they slay, Invariably they

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,

My Dog 'Twas in a pub just off the Stran… When I was in my cups, There passed a bloke with in his h… Two tiny puling pups;

In youth when oft my muse was dumb… My fancy nighly dead, To make my inspiration come I stood upon my head; And thus I let the blood down flo…

Now Kelly was no fighter; He loved his pipe and glass; An easygoing blighter, Who lived in Montparnasse. But 'mid the tavern tattle

The Spirit of the Unborn Babe pe… Peered through the window—pane tha… For, oh, the sky was desolate and… And how the little room was cramme… Except the flirting of the fire th…