That boy I took in the car last n… With the body that awfully sagged… And the lips blood—crisped, and th… And the poor hands folded and cold… Oh, I’ve thought and I’ve thought…

Being a shorty, as you see, A bare five footer, The why my wife is true to me Is my six—shooter. For every time a guy goes by

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…

In the little Crimson Manual it’s… That who would wear the scarlet co… Shall be a guardian of the right,… In the little Crimson Manual ther… Shall follow on though heavens fal…

No lyric line I ever penned The praise this parasitic bird; And what is more, I don’t intend To write a laudatory word, Since in my garden robins made

You ask me what I call Success — It is, I wonder, Happiness? It is not wealth, it is not fame, Nor rank, nor power nor honoured n… It is not triumph in the Arts —

Of all the boys with whom I fough… In Africa and Sicily, Bill was the bravest of the lot In our dare—devil Company. That lad would rather die than yie…

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,

Out of the night a crash, A roar, a rampart of light; A flame that leaped like a lash, Searing forever my sight; Out of the night a flash,

If you leave the gloom of London… Where all except the flag is stran… There’s a bronzed and stalwart fel… And greet you with a welcome warm… For he’s your younger brother, the…

Because life’s passing show Is little to his mind, There is a man I know Indrawn from human kind. His dearest friends are books;

There’s a cry from out the lonelin… Do you hear it, do you fear it, yo… You’re a—sobbing in your sleep, de… Do you hear the Little Voices all… All a—begging me to leave you. Da…

The poppies that in Spring I sow, In rings of radiance gleam and glo… Like lords and ladies gay. A joy are they to dream beside, As in the air of eventide

God’s truth! these be the bitter t… In vain I sing my sheaf of rhymes… And hold my battered hat for dimes… And then a copper collars me, Barking: “It’s begging that you b…

In the Northland there were three Pukka Pliers of the pen; Two of them had Fame in fee And were loud and lusty men; By them like a shrimp was I —