Jack would laugh an’ joke all day; Never saw a lad so gay; Singin’ like a medder lark, Loaded to the Plimsoll mark With God’s sunshine was that boy;
When the boys come out from Lac L… To take the pay of the “Hudson’s… They are all a—glee for the jambor… With a whoop and a whirl, and a “… For the spree of Spring is a sacr…
Ho! we were strong, we were swift,… Youth was a challenge, and Life w… All that was best in us gladly we… Sprang from the rally, and leapt f… Smiling is Love in a foam of Spri…
There were twin artists A. and B. Who painted pictures two, And hung them in my galley For everyone to view; The one exhibited by A.
A child saw in the morning skies The dissipated—looking moon, And opened wide her big blue eyes, And cried: “Look, look, my lost b… And clapped her rosy hands with gl…
He had the grocer’s counter—stoop, That little man so grey and neat; His moustache had a doleful droop, He hailed me in the slushy street. “I’ve sold my shop,” he said to me…
Here is my Garret up five flights… Here’s where I deal in dreams and… Here is the wonder—shop of all my… My sounding sonnets and my red rom… Here’s where I challenge Fate and…
Only a Leather Medal, hanging the… Dingy and frayed and faded, dusty… Yet of my humble treasures I valu… And I wouldn’t part with that med… Read the inscription: For Valour…
Since I have come to years sedate I see with more and more acumen The bitter irony of Fate, The vanity of all things human. Why, just to—day some fellow said,
“Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither’… It fair maks me hamesick,” says P… “And whit did she send ye?” says… As he cockit his rifle and bleezed… “A haggis! A Haggis!” says Priva…
So easy 'tis to make a rhyme, That did the world but know it, Your coachman might Parnassus cli… Your butler be a poet. Then, oh, how charming it would be
Today I opened wide my eyes, And stared with wonder and surpris… To see beneath November skies An apple blossom peer; Upon a branch as bleak as night
I sat her in her baby chair, And set upon its tray Her kewpie doll and teddy bear, But no, she would not play. Although they looked so wistfully
The harridan who holds the inn At which I toss a pot, Is old and uglier than sin,— I’m glad she knows me not. Indeed, for me it’s hard to think,
When they shall close my careless… And look their last upon my face, I fear that some will say: “her li… A man of deep disgrace; His thoughts were bare, his words…