What d’ye think, lad; what d’ye th… As the roaring crowds go by? As the banners flare and the brass… And the great guns rend the sky? As the women laugh like they’d all…
Said she: 'Although my husband Ji… Is with his home content, I never should have married him, We are so different. Oh yes, I know he loves me well,
Because I’ve eighty years and odd… And darkling is my day, I now prepare to meet my God, And for forgiveness pray. Not for salvation is my plea,
They say that Monte Carlo is A sunny place for shady people; But I’m not in the gambling biz, And sober as a parish steeple. so though this paradisal spot
I saw the Greatest Man on Earth, Aye, saw him with my proper eyes. A loin—cloth spanned his proper gi… But he was naked otherwise, Excepting for his grey sombrero;
He wrote a letter in his mind To answer one a maid had sent; He sought the fitting word to find… As on by hill and rill he went. By bluebell wood and hawthorn lane…
Oh, have you forgotten those after… With riot of roses and amber skies… When we thrilled to the joy of a m… And I sought for your soul in the… I would love you, I promised, for…
My tangoing seemed to delight her; With me it was love at first sight… I mentioned That I was a writer: She asked me: “What is it you wri… “Oh, only best—sellers,” I told h…
I took the clock down from the she… “At eight,” said I, “I shoot myse… It lacked a minute of the hour, And as I waited all a—cower, A skinful of black, boding pain,
Three Holies sat in sacred place And quaffed celestial wine, As they discussed the human race With dignity divine. Said they: 'Although in doctrine…
Just think! some night the stars w… Upon a cold, grey stone, And trace a name with silver beam, And lo! 'twill be your own. That night is speeding on to greet
When we might make with happy hear… This world a paradise, With bombs we blast brave men apar… With napalm carbonize. Where we might till the sunny soil…
My garden hath a slender path With ivy overgrown, A secret place where once would pa… A pot all alone; I see him now with fretted brow,
Pines against the sky, Pluming the purple hill; Pines . . . and I wonder why, Heart, you quicken and thrill? Wistful heart of a boy,
When I am dead I will not care Forever more, If sky be radiantly fair Or tempest roar. If my life—hoard in sin be spent,