#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
I am the Cannon King, behold! I perish on a throne of gold. With forest far and turret high, Renowned and rajah—rich am I. My father was, and his before,
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!
A Life Tragedy A pistol shot rings round and roun… In pitiful defeat a warrior lies. A last defiance to dark Death is… A last wild challenge shocks the s…
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…
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…
(France, August first, 1914) Far and near, high and clear, Hark to the call of War! Over the gorse and the golden dell… Ringing and swinging of clamorous…
There once was a Square, such a s… And he loved a trim Triangle; But she was a flirt and around her… Vainly she made him dangle. Oh he wanted to wed and he had no…
“Where is your little boy to—day?” I asked her at the gate. “I used to see him at his play, And often I would wait: He was so beautiful, so bright,
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
A mattock high he swung; I watched him at his toil; With never gulp of lung He gashed the ruddy soil. Thought I, I’d give my wealth
O Teddy Bear! with your head awry And your comical twisted smile, You rub your eyes —do you wonder w… You’ve slept such a long, long whi… As you lay so still in the cupboar…
As I was saying . . . (No, thank… Cows weren’t allowed in the trench… As I was saying, our Colonel leap… “Come on, lads!” he shouts, “and w… Then some bally thing seemed to tr…
The red—roofed house of dream desi… Looks three ways on the sea; For fifty years I’ve made it mine… And held it part of me. The pines I planted in my youth
I like to look at fishermen And oftentimes I wish One would be lucky now and then And catch a little fish. I watch them statuesquely stand,
There once was a limpet puffed wit… Who said to the ribald sea: “It isn’t I who cling to the rock… It’s the rock that clings to me; It’s the silly old rock who hugs m…