I’m one of these haphazard chaps Who sit in cafes drinking; A most improper taste, perhaps, Yet pleasant, to my thinking. For, oh, I hate discord and strif…

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…

Familiarity some claim Can breed contempt, So from it let it be your aim To be exempt. Let no one exercise his brawn

A thousand books my library Contains; And all are primed, it seems to me With brains. Mine are so few I scratch in thou…

Since four decades you’ve been to… Both Guide and Friend, I fondly hope you’ll always be, Right to the end; And though my rhymes you rarely sc…

The Spanish women don’t wear slac… Because their hips are too enormou… 'Tis true each bulbous bosom lacks No inspiration that should warm us… But how our ardor seems to freeze

Brave Thackeray has trolled of da… And bounded up five flights of sta… And yet again in mellow vein when… Has dipped his nose in Gascon win… But if I worthy were to sing a ri…

That Barret, the painter of pictu… And Fanning, the maker of music,… And Harley, the writer of stories… To hark to their talk in the trenc… Of the day when the war would be o…

I deem that there are lyric days So ripe with radiance and cheer, So rich with gratitude and praise That they enrapture all the year. And if there is a God b\above,

It hurts my pride that I should b… The issue of a night of lust; Yet even Bishops, you’ll agree, Obey the biologic 'must’; Though no doubt with more dignity

Having an aged hate of height I forced myself to climb the Towe… Yet paused at every second flight Because my heart is scant of power… Then when I gained the sloping su…

Men of the High North, the wild s… Islands of opal float on silver se… Swift splendors kindle, barbaric,… Pale ports of amber, golden argosi… Ringed all around us the proud pea…

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.)

Another day of toil and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all must write; Another page without a stain

My Favourite Fan Being a writer I receive Sweet screeds from folk of every l… Some are so weird you’d scarce bel… And some quite hard to understand: