Folk ask if I’m alive, Most think I’m not; Yet gaily I contrive To till my plot. The world its way can go,

My tangoing seemed to delight her; With me it was love at first sight… I mentioned That I was a writer: She asked me: “What is it you wri… “Oh, only best—sellers,” I told h…

Gas got me in the first World War… And all my mates at rest are laid. I felt I might survive them for I am a gardener by trade. My life is in the open air,

Oh Lip—Stick Liz was in the biz,… She had a lot of fancy rags, Of h… She had a man, a fancy man, His n… And he used to beat her up because… Now Lip—Stick Liz she loved her…

Give me a cabin in the woods Where not a human soul intrudes; Where I can sit beside a stream Beneath a balsam bough and deam, And every morning see arise

I count each day a little life, With birth and death complete; I cloister it from care and strife And keep it sane and sweet. With eager eyes I greet the morn,

When young I was a Socialist Despite my tender years; No blessed chance I ever missed To slam the profiteers. Yet though a fanatic I was,

From wrath—red dawn to wrath—red d… The guns have brayed without abate… And now the sick sun looks upon The bleared, blood—boltered fields… As if it loathed to rise again.

His face was like a lobster red, His legs were white as mayonnaise: “I’ve had a jolly lunch,” he said, That Englishman of pleasant ways. “Thy do us well at our hotel:

When day is done I steal away To fold my hands in rest, And of my hours this moment grey I love the best; So quietly I sit alone

All day he lay upon the sand When summer sun was bright, And let the grains sift through hi… With infantile delight; Just like a child, so soft and fai…

You may talk o’ your lutes and you… Your harps and your tabors and cym… But here in the trenches jist gie… The wee penny whistle o’ Sandy M… Oh, it’s: “Sandy, ma lad, will yo…

Dick’s dead! It was the Polack gu… Put powdered glass into his cage When I was tramping round the yar… I could have killed him in my rage… I slugged him with that wrench I…

So often in the mid of night I wake me in my bed With utter panic of affright To find my feet are dead; And pace the floor to easy my pain

I know a garden where the lilies g… And one who lingers in the sunshin… She is than white—stoled lily far… And oh, her eyes are heaven—lit wi… I know a garret, cold and dark and…