The daughter of the village Maire Is very fresh and very fair, A dazzling eyeful; She throws upon me such a spell That though my love I dare not te…

(With apologies to the singer of t… I’m a homely little bit of tin and… I’m beloved by the Legion of the… I haven’t got a “vox humana” tone, And a dime or two will satisfy my…

Is it because I’m bent and grey, Though wearing rather well, That I can slickly get away With all the yarns I tell? Is it because my bleary eye

He asked the lady in the train If he might smoke: she smiled cons… So lighting his cigar and fain To talk he puffed away content, Reflecting: how delightful are

I’d rather be the Jester than the… I’d rather jangle cap and bells th… I’d rather make his royal ribs wit… Than see him sitting in the suds a… I’d rather be the Court buffoon t…

In a strange town in a far land They met amid a throng; They stared, they could not unders… How life was sudden song. As brown eyes looked in eyes of gr…

To rest my fagged brain now and th… When wearied of my proper labors, I lay aside my lagging pen And get to thinking on my neighbor… For, oh, around my garret den

I never could imagine God: I don’t suppose I ever will. Beside His altar fire I nod With senile drowsiness but still In old of age as sight grows dim

Her baby was so full of glee, And through the day It laughed and babbled on her knee In happy play. It pulled her hair all out of curl

The waves have a story to tell me, As I lie on the lonely beach; Chanting aloft in the pine—tops, The wind has a lesson to teach; But the stars sing an anthem of gl…

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

There were two brothers, John and… And when the town went up in flame… To save the house of James dashed… Then turned, and lo! his own was g… And when the great World War bega…

With belly like a poisoned pup Said I: ‘I must give bacon up: And also, I profanely fear, I must abandon bread and beer That make for portliness they say;

I’d hate to be centipede (of legs… For if new trousers I should need… The bill would come to such a lot… Or else I’d have to turn a Scot a… I’m jolly glad I haven’t got a ne…

I am a Day . . . My sky is grey, My wind is wild, My sea high—piled: In year of days the first