Each sunny day upon my way A goat I pass; He has a beard of silver grey, A bell of brass. And all the while I am in sight

A hundred years is a lot of living I’ve often thought. and I’ll know… Some day if the gods are good in g… And grant me to turn the century. Yet in all my eighty years of bein…

How grand the human race would be If every man would wear a kilt, A flirt of Tartan finery, Instead of trousers, custom built! Nay, do not think I speak to joke…

When the long, long day is over, a… I hope that it won’t be hell—fire,… And I hope that it won’t be heave… All I want is just quiet, just to… Look at my face, toil—furrowed; lo…

When I played my penny whistle on… The heather bloomed about us, and… As you bent above your knitting so… And fine and soft and slow the rai… Your cheeks were pink like painted…

Lord, I’m grey, my face is run, But by old Harry, I’ve had my fun… And all about, I seem to see Lads and lassies that look like me… Ice—blue eyes on every hand,

My brother Tim has children ten, While I have none. Maybe that’s why he’s toiling when To ease I’ve won. But though I would some of his br…

That Barret, the painter of pictu… And Fanning, the maker of music,… And Harley, the writer of stories… To hark to their talk in the trenc… Of the day when the war would be o…

Let laureates sing with rapturous… Of the wonder and glory of work; Let pulpiteers preach and with pas… The indolent wretches who shirk. No doubt they are right: in the st…

And so when he reached my bed The General made a stand: “My brave young fellow,” he said, “I would shake your hand.” So I lifted my arm, the right,

Although I have a car of class, A limousine, I also have a jenny ass I call Titine. And if I had in sober sense

Our cowman, old Ed, hadn’t much i… And lots of folks though him a wit… But he wasn’t a fool, for he alway… And his sole recreation was whittl… When I’d spill him my woes (ifant…

I call myself a Tranquilist; With deep detachment I exist, From friction free; While others court the gilded thro… And worship Women, Wine and Song…

My garden robin in the Spring Was rapturous with glee, And followed me with wistful wing From pear to apple tree; His melodies the summer long

A Belgian Priest—Soldier Speaks; GURR! You cochon! Stand and fig… Show your mettle! Snarl and bite! Spawn of an accursed race, Turn and meet me face to face!