As you gaze beyond the bay With such wanness in your eyes, You who have out—stayed your day, Seeing other stars arise, Slender though your lifehold be,

This is the tale that was told to… As I smoked my pipe in the camp—f… As the Northlights gleamed and cu… A man once aimed that my life be s… I vowed one day I would well repa…

Let others sing of Empire and of… A song of Little Puddleton is goo… A song of kindly living, and of co… I seldom read the papers, so I do… I go to bed at sunset, and I leap…

In city shop a hat I saw That to my fancy seemed to strike, I gave my wage to buy the straw, And make myself a one the like. I wore it to the village fair;

Because back home in Tennessee I was a champeen shot, They made a sniper outa me An’ ninety krouts I got: I wish to Christ I’d not!

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:

I made a picture; all my heart I put in it, and all I knew Of canvas—cunning and of Art, Of tenderness and passion true. A worshipped Master came to see;

Since four decades you’ve been to… Both Guide and Friend, I fondly hope you’ll always be, Right to the end; And though my rhymes you rarely sc…

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

Poets may praise a wattle thatch Doubtfully waterproof; Let me uplift my lowly latch Beneath a rose—tiled roof. Let it be gay and rich in hue,

The Spanish women don’t wear slac… Because their hips are too enormou… 'Tis true each bulbous bosom lacks No inspiration that should warm us… But how our ardor seems to freeze

From out her shabby rain—coat pock… The little Jew girl in the train Produced a dinted silver locket With pasted in it portraits twain. “These are my parents, sir” she sa…

The Countess sprawled beside the… As naked a she well could be; Indeed her only garments were A “G” string and a brassière Her washerwoman was amazed,

They say that rhyme and rhythm are Outmoded now. I do not know, for I am far From high of brow. But if the twain you take away,

They dumped it on the lonely road, Then like a streak they sped; And as along the way I strode I thought that it was dead: And then I saw that yelping pup