#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
In Pat Mahoney’s booze bazaar the… And Ragtime Billy spanked the bab… While caroling a saucy song was M… With sozzled sourdoughs giving her… When suddenly erupting in the gay…
Never knew Jim, did you? Our boy… Bless you, there was the likely la… Supple and straight and long of li… Clean as a whistle, and just as gl… Always laughing, wasn’t he, dad?
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;
Ye who know the Lone Trail fain w… Though it lead to glory or the dar… Ye who take the Lone Trail, bid y… The Lone Trail, the Lone Trail f… The trails of the world be countle…
You want me to tell you a story, a… Of our thin red kharki 'eroes, out… Out there where the bombs are bust… and the cannons like 'ell—doors sl… Just order another drink, boys, an…
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…
This crowded life of God’s good g… No man has relished more than I; I’ve been so goldarned busy living I’ve never had the time to die. So busy fishing, hunting, roving,
Dames should be doomed to dungeons Who masticate raw onions. She was the cuddly kind of Miss A man can love to death; But when I sought to steal a kiss
Where are the dames I used to kno… In Dawson in the days of yore? Alas, it’s fifty years ago, And most, I guess, have “gone bef… The swinging scythe is swift to mo…
Smith, great writer of stories, dr… Fused in his brain-pan, else a bla… Gave him the magical genius touch;… Flat in your face a soul-thought—… Twiddle your heart-strings in his…
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
My daughter Jane makes dresses For beautiful Princesses; But though she’s plain is Jane, Of needlework she’s vain, And makes such pretty things
Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark. When wearily I lie,
When I am old and worse for wear I want to buy a rocking—chair, And set it on a porch where shine The stars of morning—glory vine; With just beyond, a gleam of grass…
I call myself a Tranquilist; With deep detachment I exist, From friction free; While others court the gilded thro… And worship Women, Wine and Song…