This is the end of all my ways, My wanderings on earth, My gloomy and my golden days, My madness and my mirth. I’ve bought ten thousand blades of…
“How good God is to me,” he said; “For have I not a mansion tall, With trees and lawns of velvet tre… And happy helpers at my call? With beauty is my life abrim,
The woes of men beyond my ken Mean nothing more to me. Behold my world, and Eden hurled From Heaven to the Sea; A jeweled home, in fending foam
Moko, the Educated Ape is here, The pet of vaudeville, so the post… And every night the gaping people… To see him in his panoply appear; To see him pad his paunch with dai…
So crystal clear it is to me That when I die I cease to be, All else seems sheer stupidity. All promises of Paradise Are wishful thinking, preacher’s l…
I had a friend, a breezy friend I liked an awful lot; And in his company no end Of happiness I got. We clicked in temper, taste and mo…
‘Why keep a cow when I can buy,’ Said he, ‘the milk I need,’ I wanted to spit in his eye Of selfishness and greed; But did not, for the reason he
Of bosom friends I’ve had but sev… Despite my years are ripe; I hope they’re now enjoying Heave… Although they’re not the type; Nor, candidly, no more am I,
Heigh ho! to sleep I vainly try; Since twelve I haven’t closed an… And now it’s three, and as I lie, From Notre Dame to St. Denis The bells of Paris chime to me;
“Miss Rosemary,” I dourly said, “Our balance verges on the red, We must cut down our overhead. One of the staff will have to go. There’s Mister Jones, he’s mighty…
We’d left the sea—gulls long behin… And we were almost in mid—ocean; The sky was soft and blue and kind… The boat had scarcely any motion; Except that songfully it sped,
An olive fire’s a lovely thing; Somehow it makes me think of Spri… As in my grate it over—spills With dancing flames like daffodils… They flirt and frolic, twist and t…
A bunch of the boys were whooping… In the Malamute saloon; The kid that handles the music—box Was hitting a jag—time tune; Back of the bar, in a solo game,
You ask me what I call Success — It is, I wonder, Happiness? It is not wealth, it is not fame, Nor rank, nor power nor honoured n… It is not triumph in the Arts —
I had a dream, a dream of dread: I thought that horror held the hou… A burglar bent above my bed, He moved as quiet as a mouse. With hairy hand and naked knife