You came down the field like a shaft from a bow;
The vision remains with me yet.
Haf you seen mine leedle Shonny,--
It's funny,
But I can never understand about
(In the manner of Ezra Pound)
I'm mad about music,
As mad as can be;
Ah! poor intoxicated little knave,
Now senseless, floating on the fragrant wave;
Oh the Sauntering Sue fell into the squalls
A-blowing from Portsmouth town;
Far, oh, far is the Mango island,
Far, oh, far is the tropical sea —
'Twas off the Eastern Filligrees —
Wizzle the pipes o'ertop! —
Let me down easy, reader, say!
Don't run the bluff that you are on,
The sun in the heavens was beaming,
The breeze bore an odour of hay,
When as I hear my Julia play
Upon the oboe, oft I say
Signing on in the Emerald Isle
Up comes a bloke in shellback style,
What ho! sickly people of high and low degree
I pray ye all be warned by me;
BEN GREEN was a New-Hampshire boy,
Who stood full six feet two:
The day, I recall, was a Spring one,
Not hot and oppressive, though warm,
Avaunt, acerbid Brat of Death, that sours
The Milk of Life and blasts the nascent Flowers!
There lived a worthy couple once
In good old Birming Town.
"Three friends once, in the course of conversation,
Touch'd upon honesty: 'No virtue better,'
You can use it with great pleasure and ease
Without wasting any elbow grease;
As o'er my latest book I pored,
Enjoying it immensely,
“When this ‘ere war’s finished,” Bill said,
“If we ain’t all dead,
I always rather bar
A Bazaar.
I ain't afeard o' the Admiral.
Though a common old tar I be,
(Lines written after viewing Mr Arthur Dove's
exposition of the "Simultaneousness of the Ambient")
A muvver was barfin' 'er biby one night,
The youngest of ten and a tiny young mite,
"I hates to think of dyin'," says the skipper to the mate;
"Starvation, shipwrecks, heart disease, I loathe to contemplate.
Spaniels are all very well,
But they smell.
I have taken to cycling again after a lapse of a generation,
How long I hardly care to tell,
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