#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
O Sacred Muse, my lyre excuse! — My verse is vagrant singing; Rhyme I invoke for simple folk Of penny—wise upbringing: For Grannies grey to paste away
I took a contract to bury the body… Whenever, wherever or whatsoever t… Whether he die in the light o’ day… In cabin or dance—hall, camp or di… On velvet tundra or virgin peak, b…
Now Kelly was no fighter; He loved his pipe and glass; An easygoing blighter, Who lived in Montparnasse. But 'mid the tavern tattle
I saw three wounded of the war: And the first had lost his eyes; And the second went on wheels and… No legs below the thighs; And the face of the third was feat…
Maids In May Three maids there were in meadow b… The eldest less then seven; Their eyes were dancing with delig… And innocent as Heaven.
Is it because I’m bent and grey, Though wearing rather well, That I can slickly get away With all the yarns I tell? Is it because my bleary eye
The height of wisdom seems to me That of a child; So let my ageing vision be Serene and mild. The depth of folly, I aver,
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…
Alphonso Rex who died in Rome Was quite a fistful as a kid; For when I visited his home, That gorgeous palace in Madrid, The grinning guide—chap showed me…
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!
I was Mojeska’s leading man And famous parts I used to play, But now I do the best I can To earn my bread from day to day; Here in this Burg of Breaking He…
Mary and I were twenty—two When we were wed; A well—matched pair, right smart t… The town’s folk said. For twenty years I have been true
Let poets piece prismatic words, Give me the jewelled joy of birds! What ecstasy moves them to sing? Is it the lyric glee of Spring, The dewy rapture of the rose?
I Laugh at Life: its antics make… Where only foolish fellows take th… I laugh at pomp and vanity, at ric… At social inanity, at swager, swan… At poets, pastry—cooks and kings,…
I keep collecting books I know I’ll never, never read; My wife and daughter tell me so, And yet I never head. “Please make me,” says some wistfu…