#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
There’s a four—pronged buck a—swin… And it roamed the velvet valley ti… But I tracked it by the river, an… And I killed it on the mountain m… Now I’ve had my lazy supper, and…
I wish that I could understand The moving marvel of my Hand; I watch my fingers turn and twist, The supple bending of my wrist, The dainty touch of finger—tip,
I’ll wait until my money’s gone Before I take the sleeping pills; Then when they find me in the dawn… Remote from earthly ails and ills They’ll say: “She’s broke, the fo…
Life, you’ve been mighty good to m… Yet here’s the end of the trail; No more mountain, moor and sea, No more saddle and sail. Waves a—leap in the laughing sun
The same old sprint in the morning… Chained all day to the same old de… Posting the same old greasy books,… Oh, how will I manage to stick it… We’ve bidden good—bye to life in a…
Some poets sing of scenery; Some to fair maids make sonnets sw… A fig for love and greenery, Be mine a song of things to eat. Let brother bards divinely dream,
When you have sailed the seven sea… And looped the ends of earth, You’ll long at last for slippered… Beside a bonny hearth; A cosy cottage in the sun,
Clemenceau His frown brought terror to his fo… But now in twilight of his days The pure perfection of a rose Can kindle rapture in his gaze.
A father’s pride I used to know, A mother’s love was mine; For swinish husks I let them go, And bedded with the swine. Since then I’ve come on evil days
'Nay; I don’t need a hearing aid’ I told Mama—in—law; 'For if I had I’d be afraid Of your eternal jaw; Although at me you often shout,
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,
“There’s something in your face,… There’s something quare that wasn’… “It’s just the Army life, mother,… That puts the stiffinin’ in yer sp… “There’s something in your eyes,…
Humping it here in the dug—out, Sucking me black dudeen, I’d like to say in a general way, There’s nothing like Nickyteen; There’s nothing like Nickyteen, m…
A bunch of the boys were whooping… In the Malamute saloon; The kid that handles the music—box Was hitting a jag—time tune; Back of the bar, in a solo game,
France is the fairest land on eart… Lovely to heart’s desire, And twice a year I span its girth… Its beauty to admire. But when a pub I seek each night,