#English #XIXCentury #XXCentury
There are strange things done in t… By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secr… That would make your blood run col… The Northern Lights have seen que…
The Cow—Juice Cure The clover was in blossom, an’ the… When Flap—jack Billy hit the town… The frost was on the fodder an’ th… When Billy got to seein’ snakes i…
Should you preserve white mice in… Don’t use imported ones from Chin… For though they cost you less in m… You’ll find the Japanese ones fin… But if Chinese, stuff them with s…
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…
I have a house I’ve lived in long… I can’t recall my going in. 'Twere better bartered for a song Ere ruin, rot and rust begin. When it was fresh and fine and fai…
A pencil, sir; a penny —won’t you… I’m cold and wet and tired, a sorr… Don’t turn your back, sir; take on… I haven’t made a single sale to—ni… Oh, thank you, sir; but take the p…
How often do I wish I were What people call a character; A ripe and cherubic old chappie Who lives to make his fellows happ… With in his eyes a merry twinkle,
Twin boys I bore, my joy, my care… My hope, my life they were to me; Their father, dashing, debonair, Fell fighting at Gallipoli. His daring gallantry, no doubt,
I am a mild man, you’ll agree, But red my rage is, When folks who borrow books from m… Turn down their pages. Or when a chap a book I lend,
I was in Warsaw when the first bo… I was in Warsaw when the Terror c… Havoc and horror, famine, fear and… Blasting from loveliness a living… Barring the station towered a sent…
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
When the boys come out from Lac L… To take the pay of the “Hudson’s… They are all a—glee for the jambor… With a whoop and a whirl, and a “… For the spree of Spring is a sacr…
Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark. When wearily I lie,
I used to sing, when I was young, The joy of idleness; But now I’m grey I hold my tongue… For frankly I confess If I had not some job to do
The porter in the Pullman car Was charming, as they sometimes ar… He scanned my baggage tags: “Are… The man who wrote of Lady Lou?” When I said “yes” he made a fuss…