#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
I had a bitter enemy, His heart to hate he gave, And when I died he swore that he Would dance upon my grave; That he would leap and laugh becau…
No, Bill, I’m not a—spooning out… (The cove be’ind the sandbags ain’… And though I strafes ‘em good and… I guess they’re mostly decent, jus… I guess they loves their 'omes and…
A ray of sun strayed softly round, For something to caress, Until a resting place it found Of joy and thankfulness; 'Twas Minette, our Angora cat,
The Princess was of ancient line, Of royal race was she; Like cameo her face was fine, With sad serentiy: Yet bent she toiled with dimming e…
I’m dead. Officially I’m dead. Their hope i… How long I stood as missing! Now,… ; & nbsp; &n… Look in my face —no likeness can y…
“Tuberculosis should not be,” The old professor said. “If folks would hearken unto me 'Twould save a million dead. Nay, no consumptive needs to die,
Clorinda met me on the way As I came from the train; Her face was anything but gay, In fact, suggested pain. “Oh hubby, hubby dear!” she cried,
There where the mighty mountains b… There where the sullen sun-dogs gl… And the glacier-glutted streams sw… There where the livid tundras keep… There where the silences are spawn…
I’m just an ordinary chap Who comes home to his tea, And mostly I don’t care a rap What people think of me; I do my job and take my pay,
She lay like a saint on her copper… Like an angel asleep she lay, In the stare of the ghoulish folks… Past the Dead and sneak away. Then came old Jules of the sightl…
“Black is the sky, but the land is… (O the wind, the snow and the stor… Father, where is our boy to—night? Pray to God he is safe and warm.” “Mother, mother, why should you fe…
The sunshine seeks my little room To tell me Paris streets are gay; That children cry the lily bloom All up and down the leafy way; That half the town is mad with Ma…
'Twas in the bleary middle of the… I was lonesome as a loon so if you… Imagine my emotions of amazement a… When I bumped into that Missionar… He was lying lost and dying in the…
I am a Day . . . My sky is grey, My wind is wild, My sea high—piled: In year of days the first
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