#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
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,
When twenty—one I loved to dream, And was to loafing well inclined; Somehow I couldn’t get up steam To welcome work of any kind. While students burned the midnight…
My virtues in Carara stone Cut carefully you all my scan; Beneath I lie, a fetid bone, The marble worth more than the man… If on my pure tomb they should gra…
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…
Said the Door: “She came in With no shadow of sin; Turned the key in the lock, Slipped out of her frock, The robe she liked best
They asked the Bard of Ayr to din… The banquet hall was fit and fine, With gracing it a Lord; The poet came; his face was grim To find the place reserved for him
Up in my garret bleak and bare I tilted back on my broken chair, And my three old pals were with me… Hunger and Thirst and Cold; Hunger scowled at his scurvy mate:
In Mike Maloney’s Nugget bar the… An’ One—eyed Mike was shakin’ dic… An roarin’ rageful warning when th… When peekin’ through the double do… Then Mike Maloney muttered: “Hel…
Time, the Jester, jeers at you; Your life’s a fleeting breath; Your birthday’s flimsy I.O.U. To that old devil, Death. And though to glory you attain,
School yourself to savour most Joys that have but little cost; Prove the best of life is free, Sun and stars and sky and sea; Eager in your eyes to please,
And is it not a gesture grand To drink oneself to death? Oh sure 'tis I can understand, Being of sober breath. And so I do not sing success,
And when I come to the dim trail—… I who have been Life’s rover, This is all I would ask, my frien… Over and over and over: A little space on a stony hill
There were twin artists A. and B. Who painted pictures two, And hung them in my galley For everyone to view; The one exhibited by A.
My Daddy used to wallop me for ev… “Its takes a hair—brush back,” sai… And still to—day I scarce can loo… Without I want in sympathy to pat… For Dad declared with unction: “S…
Oh how it would enable me To titillate my vanity If you should choose to label me A Poet of Profanity! For I’ve been known with vulgar s…