Before the florid portico I watched the gamblers come and go… While by me on a bench there sat A female in a faded hat; A shabby, shrinking, crumpled crea…
O Sacred Muse, my lyre excuse! — My verse is vagrant singing; Rhyme I invoke for simple folk Of penny—wise upbringing: For Grannies grey to paste away
Visibility Because my eyes were none to brigh… Strong spectacles I bought, And lo! there sprang into my sight A life beyond my thought:
The cow-moose comes to water, and… The net is in the eddy of the stre… The teepee stars the vivid sward w… And in the velvet gloom the fire’s… The night is ripe with quiet, rich…
At dusk I saw a craintive mouse That sneaked and stole around the… At first I took it for a ghost, For it was snowy white —almost. I’ve seen them in captivity,
'A shilling’s worth of quinine, pl… The customer demanded. The druggist went down on his knee… And from a cupboard handed The waiting man a tiny flask:
Each time that I switch on the li… A Miracle it seems to me That I should rediscover sight And banish dark so utterly. One moment I am bleakly blind,
I’m crawlin’ out in the mangolds t… Joe, my pal, and a good un (God!… I’m sick o’ seein’ him lyin’ like… I’m crawlin’ out in the beet—field… ’E might 'a bin makin’ munitions —…
. . . So I walked among the willo… There was no moon at all, at all;… There was no light at all, at all;… And I called him as his mother ca… Oh I called him all the night—tim…
Mud is Beauty in the making, Mud is melody awaking; Laughter, leafy whisperings, Butterflies with rainbow wings; Baby babble, lover’s sighs,
They brought the mighty chief to t… They showed him strange, unwonted… Yet as he wandered up and down, He seemed to scorn their vain deli… His face was grim, his eye lacked…
Zut! it’s two o’clock. See! the lights are jumping. Finish up your bock, Time we all were humping. Waiters stack the chairs,
Three times I had the lust to kil… To clutch a throat so young and fa… And squeeze with all my might unti… No breath of being lingered there. Three times I drove the demon out…
Someone’s Mother trails the stree… Wrapt in rotted rags; Broken slippers on her feet Drearily she drags; Drifting in the bitter night,
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