#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
Ah me! How hard is destiny! If we could only know. . . . I bought my son from Sicily A score of years ago; I haled him from our sunny vale
He stared at me with sad, hurt eye… That drab, untidy man; And though my clients I despise I do the best I can To comfort them with cheerful chat…
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…
“Let’s make him a sailor,” said F… “And he will adventure the sea.” “A soldier,” said Mother, “is rat… What I would prefer him to be.” “A lawyer,” said Father, “would p…
I hate my neighbour Widow Green; I’d like to claw her face; But if I did she’d make a scene And run me round the place: For widows are in way of spleen
To be a bony feed Sourdough You must, by Yukon Law, Have killed a moose, And robbed a sluice, AND BUNKED UP WITH A SQU…
Tramp, tramp, the grim road, the r… (I’ve 'ammered out this ditty with… Tramp, tramp, the dim road—we didn… And bellies that was ’oller was th… Tramp, tramp, the bad road, the bi…
Rhyme—Smith Oh, I was born a lyric babe (That last word is a bore — It’s only rhyme is astrolabe," Whose meaning I ignore.)
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
My boy’s come back; he’s here at l… He came home on a special train. My longing and my ache are past, My only son is back again. He’s home with music, flags and fl…
Her little head just topped the wi… She even mounted on a stool, maybe… She pressed against the pane, as c… And watched us playing, oh so wist… And then I missed her for a month…
My destiny it is tonight To sit with pensive brow Beside my study fire and write This verse I’m making now. This Period, this tiny dot
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
What are we fighting for, We fellows who go to war? fighting for Freedom’s sake! (You give me the belly—ache.) Freedom to starve or slave!
At dawn of day the white land lay… When Bill Mc’Gee he says to me:… We’ve got to make Fort Liard quic… But, oh! the little woman’s sick .… And me! Well, yes, I must confess…