#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
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 Lady is dancing so lightly, The belle of the Embassy Ball; I lied as I kissed her politely, And hurried away from it all. I’m taxiing up to Montmartre,
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…
A Belgian Priest—Soldier Speaks; GURR! You cochon! Stand and fig… Show your mettle! Snarl and bite! Spawn of an accursed race, Turn and meet me face to face!
Someone’s Mother trails the stree… Wrapt in rotted rags; Broken slippers on her feet Drearily she drags; Drifting in the bitter night,
A ray of sun strayed softly round, For something to caress, Until a resting place it found Of joy and thankfulness; 'Twas Minette, our Angora cat,
I’m one of these haphazard chaps Who sit in cafes drinking; A most improper taste, perhaps, Yet pleasant, to my thinking. For, oh, I hate discord and strif…
Because I have ten thousand pound… And leave my living tranquilly for… For in some procreative way that i… Ten thousand pounds will breed, th… So as I have a healthy hate of ec…
You may talk o’ your lutes and you… Your harps and your tabors and cym… But here in the trenches jist gie… The wee penny whistle o’ Sandy M… Oh, it’s: “Sandy, ma lad, will yo…
Because I’ve eighty years and odd… And darkling is my day, I now prepare to meet my God, And for forgiveness pray. Not for salvation is my plea,
It’s not for laws I’ve broken That bitter tears I’ve wept, But solemn vows I’ve spoken And promises unkept; It’s not for sins committed
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…
Flat as a drum—head stretch the ha… The mighty skies are palisades of… The stars are blurred; the silence… Vaster and vaster vaults the icy n… Here in my sleeping—bag I cower a…
Here lyeth one Who loved the sun; Who lived with zest, Whose work was done, Reward, dear Lord,
The same old sprint in the morning… Chained all day to the same old de… Posting the same old greasy books,… Oh, how will I manage to stick it… We’ve bidden good—bye to life in a…