First Ghost To sepulcher my mouldy bones I bough a pile of noble stones, And half a year a sculptor spent To hew my marble monument,

’Twas up in a land long famed for… Tellus, the smith, had taken to wi… Tellus, the brawny worker in iron,… Saw her and loved her and bore her… Deeming her worthy to queen his ho…

Sitting in the dentist’s chair, Wishing that I wasn’t there, To forget and pass the time I have made this bit of rhyme. I had a rendez—vous at ten;

Because I have no garden and No pence to buy, Before the flower shop I stand And sigh. The beauty of the Springtide spil…

I opened wide the bath—room door, And all at once switched on the li… When moving swift across the floor I saw a streak of ebon bright: Then quick, with slipper in my han…

“The spirits do not like the light… The medium said, and turned the sw… The little lady on my right Clutched at my hand with nervous t… (She seemed to be a pretty bitch.)

All day long when the shells sail… I stand at the sandbags and take m… But at night, at night I’m a reck… And over the parapet gleams Roman… Romance! Romance! How I’ve dream…

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;

Jerry MacMullen, the millionaire, Driving a red—meat bus out there — How did he win his Croix de Guerr… Bless you, that’s all old stuff: Beast of a night on the Verdun ro…

The songs I made from joy of eart… In wanton wandering, Are rapturous with Maytime mirth And ectasy of Spring. But all the songs I sing today

'Twas on an iron, icy day I saw a pirate gull down—plane, And hover in a wistful way Nigh where my chickens picked thei… An outcast gull, so grey and old,

Rosemary has of dolls a dozen, Yet she disdains them all; While Marie Rose, her pauper cous… Has just an old rag doll. But you should see her mother it,

At dusk I saw a craintive mouse That sneaked and stole around the… At first I took it for a ghost, For it was snowy white —almost. I’ve seen them in captivity,

“The aristocratic ne’er—do—well in… into the ranks of the Royal North… Hark to the ewe that bore him: “What has muddied the strain? Never his brothers before him

'Tis true my garments threadbare a… And sorry poor I seem; But inly I am richer far Than any poet’s dream. For I’ve a hidden life no one