#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
Some inherit manly beauty, Some come into worldly wealth; Some have lofty sense of duty, Others boast exultant health. Though the pick may be confusing,
Oh darling Eric, why did you For my fond affection sue, And then with surgeons artful aid Transform yourself into a maid? So now in petticoats you go
Heed me, feed me, I am hungry, I… Boughs of balsam, slabs of cedar,… Heap them on me, let me hug them t… Roaring, soaring up to heaven as a… Bring me knots of sunny maple, sil…
For five and twenty years I’ve ru… A famous train; But now my spell of speed is done, No more I’ll strain My sight along the treadless track…
I scanned two lines with some surm… As over Keats I chanced to pore: ‘And there I shut her wild, wild… With kisses four.’ Says I: ‘Why was it only four,
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
My mother she had children five an… While I, least worthy to survive,… She looks at me, I must confess,… My mother is three—score and ten,… You don’t know how it hurts me whe…
If fortune had not granted me To suck the Muse’s teats, I think I would have liked to be A sweeper of the streets; And city gutters glad to groom,
When I was with a Shakespeare sho… I played the part of Guildenstern… Or Rosenkrantz —at least I know It wasn’t difficult to learn; By Reader, do not at me scoff,
The woes of men beyond my ken Mean nothing more to me. Behold my world, and Eden hurled From Heaven to the Sea; A jeweled home, in fending foam
I stood beside the silken rope, Five dollars in my hand, And waited in my patient hope To sit anear the Band, And hear the famous Louie play
Here in the Autumn of my days My life is mellowed in a haze. Unpleasant sights are none to clea… Discordant sounds I hardly hear. Infirmities like buffers soft
Some carol of the banjo, to its me… Of viol or of lute some make a son… My battered old accordion, you’re… You’ve been my friend and comforte… Round half the world I’ve trotted…
We talked of yesteryears, of trail… Of men who played the game and los… Of mad stampedes, of toil beyond a… Of camp-fire comfort when the day… We talked of sullen nights by moon…
My mother loved her horses and Her hounds of pedigree; She did not kiss the baby hand I held to her in glee. Of course I had a sweet nou—nou