She risked her all, they told me,… The pinched economies of thirty ye… And there the little shop was, mee… The sum of all her dreams and hope… Ere it was opened I would see the…
Hot digitty dog! Now, ain’t it qu… I’ve been abroad for over a year; Seen a helluva lot since then, Killed, I reckon, a dozen men; Six was doubtful, but six was sure…
(16th January 1949) I thank whatever gods may be For all the happiness that’s mine; That I am festive, fit and free To savour women, wit and wine;
My Muse is simple,—yet it’s nice To think you don’t need to think t… On words I write. I reckon I’ve a common touch And if you say I cuss too much
My folks think I’m a serving maid Each time I visit home; They do not dream I ply a trade As old as Greece or Rome; For if they found I’d fouled thei…
Softly every night they come To the picture show, That old couple, deaf and dumb In the second row; Wistful watching, hand in hand,
They asked the Bard of Ayr to din… The banquet hall was fit and fine, With gracing it a Lord; The poet came; his face was grim To find the place reserved for him
To—day within a grog—shop near I saw a newly captured linnet, Who beat against his cage in fear, And fell exhausted every minute; And when I asked the fellow there
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
Father drank himself to death,— Quite enjoyed it. Urged to draw a sober breath He’d avoid it. ‘Save your sympathy,’ said Dad;
I look into the aching womb of nig… I look across the mist that masks… The moon is tired and gives but li… The stars have gone to bed. The earth is sick and seems to bre…
My rhymes are rough, and often in… I’ve drifted, silver—sailed, on se… Hearing afar the bells of Elfland… Seeing the groves of Arcadie agle… I was the thrall of Beauty that r…
My first I wed when just sixteen And he was sixty—five. He treated me like any queen The years he was alive. Oh I betrayed him on the sly,
That scathing word I used in scor… (Though half a century ago) Comes back to me this April morn, Like boomerang to work me woe; Comes back to me with bitter blame
Upspoke the culprit at the bar, Conducting his own case: ‘Your Lordship, I have gone to fa… But grant me of your grace. As I was passing by a shop