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This crowded life of God's good giving
No man has relished more than I;
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Let us be thankful, Lord, for little things -
The song of birds, the rapture of the rose;
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Because life's passing show
Is little to his mind,
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He took the grade in second - quite a climb,
Dizzy and dangerous, yet how sublime!
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Should you preserve white mice in honey
Don't use imported ones from China,
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He gave a picture exhibition,
Hiring a little empty shop.
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The Countess sprawled beside the sea
As naked a she well could be;
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The night before I left Milan
A mob jammed the Cathedral Square,
24 lines, 1 comment
But yesterday I banked on fistic fame,
Figgerin' I'd be a champion of the Ring.
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When I was brash and gallant-gay
Just fifty years ago,
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Between the cliff-rise and the beach
A slip of emerald I own;
24 lines, 2 comments
The mule-skinner was Bill Jerome, the passengers were three;
Two tinhorns from the dives of Nome, and Father Tim McGee.
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A Wintertide we had been wed
When Jan went off to sea;
37 lines, 1 comment
O meadow lark, so wild and free,
It cannot be, it cannot be,
20 lines, 1 comment
Where are the dames I used to know
In Dawson in the days of yore?
35 lines, 7 comments
My only medals are the scars
I've won in weary, peacetime wars,
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One day the Great Designer sought
His Clerk of Birth and Death.
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The meal was o'er, the lamp was lit,
The family sat in its glow;
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I had a dream, a dream of dread:
I thought that horror held the house;
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A Frenchman and an Englishman
Resolved to fight a duel,
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With barbwire hooch they filled him full,
Till he was drunker than all hell,
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I think I'll buy a little field,
Though scant am I of pelf,
32 lines, 1 comment
Why should I be the first to fall
Of all the leaves on this old tree?
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Gas got me in the first World War,
And all my mates at rest are laid.
32 lines, 1 comment
Although the Preacher be a bore,
The Atheist is even more.
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I to a crumpled cabin came
upon a hillside high,
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Somehow the skies don't seem so blue
As they used to be;
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Grand-daughter of the Painted Nails,
As if they had been dipped in gore,
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To please him we will do our best.
A worthy haggis you must make,
40 lines, 1 comment
Past ash cans and alley cats,
Fetid. overflowing gutters,
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Oh Julie Claire was very fair,
Yet generous as well,
32 lines, 1 comment
Alphonso Rex who died in Rome
Was quite a fistful as a kid;
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His face was like a lobster red,
His legs were white as mayonnaise:
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Mad Maria in the Square
Sits upon a wicker chair.
40 lines, 2 comments
On this festive first of May,
Wending wistfully my way
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My lead dog Mike was like a bear;
I reckon he was grizzly bred,
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He was my best and oldest friend.
I'd known him all my life.
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I never killed a bear because
I always thought them critters was
55 lines, 1 comment
A hundred years is a lot of living
I've often thought. and I'll know, maybe,
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I wrote a poem to the moon
But no one noticed it;
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Let's make him a sailor, said Father,
And he will adventure the sea.
32 lines, 1 comment
When looking back I dimly see
The trails my feet have trod,
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Of all the boys with whom I fought
In Africa and Sicily,
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My first I wed when just sixteen
And he was sixty-five.
24 lines, 1 comment
I met an ancient man who mushed
With Peary to the Pole.
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I made a picture; all my heart
I put in it, and all I knew
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I've often wondered why
Old chaps who choose to die
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At dusk I saw a craintive mouse
That sneaked and stole around the house;
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When I attended Mass today
A coloured maid sat down by me,
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A bonny bird I found today
Mired in a melt of tar;
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Oh Maggie, do you mind the day
We went to school together,
24 lines, 1 comment
"Give me my daily bread.
It seems so odd,
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God's truth! these be the bitter times.
In vain I sing my sheaf of rhymes,
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My garden robin in the Spring
Was rapturous with glee,
32 lines, 1 comment
Behold! the Spanish flag they're raising
Before the Palace courtyard gate;
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Poets may praise a wattle thatch
Doubtfully waterproof;
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I used to sing, when I was young,
The joy of idleness;
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We pitied him because
He lived alone;
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In Paris on a morn of May
I sent a radio transalantic
32 lines, 1 comment
Though elegance I ill afford,
My living-room is green and gold;
33 lines, 1 comment
I'll wait until my money's gone
Before I take the sleeping pills;
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I saw a Priest in beetle black
Come to our golden beach,
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A hundred people I employed,
But when they struck for higher pay,
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My Pa and Ma their honeymoon
Passed in an Andulasian June,
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The Men of Seville are, they say,
The laziest of Spain.
24 lines, 1 comment
We have no aspiration vain
For paradise Utopian,
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The Spanish women don't wear slacks
Because their hips are too enormous.
24 lines, 2 comments
It's mighty nice at shut of day
With weariness to hit the hey,
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The General now lives in town;
He's eighty odd, they say;
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Bill has left his house of clay,
Slammed the door and gone away:
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Son put a poser up to me
That made me scratch my head:
32 lines, 1 comment
Six bulls I saw as black as jet,
With crimsoned horns and amber eyes
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You never saw a cat with wings,
I'll bet a dollar -- well, I did;
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The Sergeant of a Highland Reg-
-Iment was drilling of his men;
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The Rector met a little lass
Who led a heifer by a rope.
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In city shop a hat I saw
That to my fancy seemed to strike,
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Beware of wedlock - 'tis a gamble,
It's MAN who holds the losing end
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The Man from Cook's morosely said.
And if our chaps had won the War
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To visit the Escurial
We took a motor bus,
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In all the pubs from Troon to Ayr
Grandfather's father would repair
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They say that Monte Carlo is
A sunny place for shady people;
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Clutched at my hand with nervous twitch.
(She seemed to be a pretty bitch.)
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Of all the men I ever knew
The tinkingest was Uncle Jim;
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I pawned my sick wife's wedding ring,
To drink and make myself a beast.
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Oh I have worn my mourning out,
And on her grave the green grass grows;
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Her intellect is second-rate.
If she was witty she would never
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Three widows of the Middle West
We're grimly chewing gum;
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And which was right still puzzles me:
Perhaps one should be blind to see.
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First Ghost
To sepulcher my mouldy bones
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Unpenitent, I grieve to state,
Two good men stood by heaven's gate,
27 lines, 5 comments
In the Northland there were three
Pukka Pliers of the pen;
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Some praise the Lord for Light,
The living spark;
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We have no heart for civil strife,
Our burdens we prefer to bear;
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Let poets piece prismatic words,
Give me the jewelled joy of birds!
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She'd bring to me a skein of wool
And beg me to hold out my hands;
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When I went by the meadow gate
The chestnut mare would trot to meet me,
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Oh how I'd be gay and glad
If a little house I had,
32 lines, 1 comment
1 - 97 of 97
1 - 97 of 97
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