#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
“Carry your suitcase, Sir?” he sa… I turned away to hide a grin, For he was shorter by a head Than I and pitiably thin. I could have made a pair of him,
As home from church we two did plo… “Grandpa,” said Rosy, “What is G… Seeking an answer to her mind, This is the best that I could fin… God is the Iz—ness of our Cosmic…
He gives me such a bold and curiou… That young American across the wa… As if he’d like to put me in a boo… (Fancies himself a poet, so they s… Ah well! He’ll make no “document”…
I guess folks think I’m mighty du… Since Jack and Jim and Joe Have hit the trail to Kingdom Com… And left me here below: Since Death, the bastard, bowled…
Window Shopper I stood before a candy shop Which with a Christmas radiance s… I saw my parents pass and stop To grin at me and then go on.
I’m one of these haphazard chaps Who sit in cafes drinking; A most improper taste, perhaps, Yet pleasant, to my thinking. For, oh, I hate discord and strif…
I wonder if successful men Are always happy? And do they sing with gusto when Springtime is sappy? Although I am of snow—white hair
The mule—skinner was Bill Jerome,… Two tinhorns from the dives of No… And as for sunny Southland bound,… The solitude that ringed them roun… Then when the trail crooked crazil…
The night before I left Milan A mob jammed the Cathedral Square… And high the tide of passion ran As politics befouled the air. A seething hell of human strife,
He stared at me with sad, hurt eye… That drab, untidy man; And though my clients I despise I do the best I can To comfort them with cheerful chat…
My poem may be yours indeed In melody and tone, If in its rhythm you can read A music of your own; If in its pale woof you can weave
Grand—daughter of the Painted Nai… As if they had been dipped in gore… I’d like to set you lugging pails And make you scrub the kitchen flo… I’m old and crotchety of course,
My glass is filled, my pipe is lit… My den is all a cosy glow; And snug before the fire I sit, And wait to feel the old year go. I dedicate to solemn thought
“Sow your wild oats in your youth,… But I say with deeper sooth: “Sow… I’ll be wise till I’m about seven… Then, by Gad! I’ll blossom out as… I’ll assume a dashing air, laugh w…
That Tom was poor was sure a pity… Such guts for learning had the lad… He took to Greek like babe to tit… And he was mathematic mad. I loved to prime him up with knowl…