We sleep in the sleep of ages, the… The gray moss drapes us like sages… And deeper we clutch through the g… On the flanks of the storm—gored r… We surge in a host to the sullen c…
Though elegance I ill afford, My living—room is green and gold; The former tenant was a lord Who died of drinking, I am told. I fancy he was rather bored;
I will not wash my face; I will not brush my hair; I “pig” around the place— There’s nobody to care. Nothing but rock and tree;
My brother Tim has children ten, While I have none. Maybe that’s why he’s toiling when To ease I’ve won. But though I would some of his br…
Father drank himself to death,— Quite enjoyed it. Urged to draw a sober breath He’d avoid it. ‘Save your sympathy,’ said Dad;
An Englishman was Thomas Paine Who bled for liberty; But while his fight was far from v… He died in poverty: Though some are of the sober think…
The Wanderlust has lured me to th… Has dumped me on the tailing—piles… The Wanderlust has haled me from… Has hurled me to the ends of all t… How bitterly I’ve cursed it, oh,…
In Pat Mahoney’s booze bazaar the… And Ragtime Billy spanked the bab… While caroling a saucy song was M… With sozzled sourdoughs giving her… When suddenly erupting in the gay…
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
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…
I sought Him on the purple seas, I sought Him on the peaks aflame; Amid the gloom of giant trees And canyons lone I called His nam… The wasted ways of earth I trod:
Said Will: “I’ll stay and till th… Said Jack: “I’ll sail the sea.” So one went forth kit—bag in hand, The other ploughed the lea. They met again at Christmas—tide,
Mumsie and Dad are raven dark And I am lily blonde. ‘Tis strange,’ I once heard nurse… ‘You do not correspond.’ And yet they claim me as their own…
(The Wounded Canadian Speaks) My leg? It’s off at the knee. Do I miss it? Well, some. You se… I’ve had it since I was born; And lately a devilish corn.
The chapel looms against the sky, Above the vine—clad shelves, And as the peasants pass it by They cross themselves. But I alone, I grieve to state,