#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
I hate my neighbour Widow Green; I’d like to claw her face; But if I did she’d make a scene And run me round the place: For widows are in way of spleen
Singing larks I saw for sale — (Ah! the pain of it) Plucked and ready to impale On a roasting spit; Happy larks that summer—long
Something’s wrong in Pigeon—land; 'Tisn’t as it used to be, When the pilgrim, corn in hand, Courted us with laughing glee; When we crooned with pinions furle…
I never thought that Bill could s… A proper prayer; 'Twas more in his hard—bitten way To cuss and swear; Yet came the night when Baby Ted
Oh, have you forgotten those after… With riot of roses and amber skies… When we thrilled to the joy of a m… And I sought for your soul in the… I would love you, I promised, for…
Somehow the skies don’t seem so bl… As they used to be; Blossoms have a fainter hue, Grass less green I see. There’s no twinkle in a star,
One spoke: “Come, let us gaily go With laughter, love and lust, Since in a century or so We’ll all be boneyard dust. When unborn shadows hold the scree…
I knew three sisters,—all were swe… Wishful to wed was I, And wondered which would mostly me… The matrimonial tie. I asked the first what fate would…
One of the Down and Out—that’s me… Stare and shrink—say! you wouldn’t… Look at my face, it’s crimped and… Don’t seem the sort of man, do I,… Slouching along in smelly rags, a…
To have a business of my own With toil and tears, I wore my fingers to the bone For weary years. With stoic heart, for sordid gold
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…
In youth I longed to paint The loveliness I saw; And yet by dire constraint I had to study Law. But now all that is past,
When the boys come out from Lac L… To take the pay of the “Hudson’s… They are all a—glee for the jambor… With a whoop and a whirl, and a “… For the spree of Spring is a sacr…
“The aristocratic ne’er—do—well in… into the ranks of the Royal North… Hark to the ewe that bore him: “What has muddied the strain? Never his brothers before him
A Wintertide we had been wed When Jan went off to sea; And now the laurel rose is red And I wait on the quay. His berthing boat I watch with dr…