Perfection If I could practise what I preach… Of fellows there would few be fine… If I were true to what I teach My life would be a lot diviner.
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…
When I was with a Shakespeare sho… I played the part of Guildenstern… Or Rosenkrantz —at least I know It wasn’t difficult to learn; By Reader, do not at me scoff,
Although the Preacher be a bore, The Atheist is even more. I ain’t religious worth a damn; My views are reckoned to be broad; And yet I shut up like a clam
A thousand books my library Contains; And all are primed, it seems to me With brains. Mine are so few I scratch in thou…
I know a garden where the lilies g… And one who lingers in the sunshin… She is than white—stoled lily far… And oh, her eyes are heaven—lit wi… I know a garret, cold and dark and…
Although you deem it far from nice… And it perchance may hurt you, Let me suggest that cowardice Can masquerade as virtue; And many a maid remains a maid
Mary and I were twenty—two When we were wed; A well—matched pair, right smart t… The town’s folk said. For twenty years I have been true
(The French “Tommy”). Oh, some of us lolled in the chate… And some of us slinked in the slum… But now we are here with a song an… To serve at the sign of the drum.
There’s a drip of honeysuckle in t… There’s old Martin jogging homewa… There are cherry petals falling, a… And a score of larks (God bless '… For you see I am not really there…
A bunch of the boys were whooping… The kid that handles the music—box… Back of the bar, in a solo game, s… And watching his luck was his ligh… When out of the night, which was f…
I’ve sung of Violet de Vere, that… Of Gertie of the Diamond Tooth,… And Maye Lamore,—at eighty—four… That in my wild and wooly youth I… And Klondike Kit, and Gumboot Su…
Like prim Professor of a College I primed my shelves with books of… And now I stand before them dumb, Just like a child that sucks its t… And stares forlorn and turns away,
The Moon is like a ping—pong ball… I lean against the orchard wall, And see it soar into the void, A silky sphere of celluloid. Then fairy fire enkindles it,
For oh, when the war will be over We’ll go and we’ll look for our de… We’ll go when the bee’s on the clo… And the plume of the poppy is red: We’ll go when the year’s at its ga…