#1912 #AmericanWriters #RhymesOfARollingStone
In all the pubs from Troon to Ayr Grandfather’s father would repair With Bobby Burns, a drouthy pair, The glass to clink; And oftenwhiles, when not too “fou…
When they shall close my careless… And look their last upon my face, I fear that some will say: “her li… A man of deep disgrace; His thoughts were bare, his words…
Is it because I’m bent and grey, Though wearing rather well, That I can slickly get away With all the yarns I tell? Is it because my bleary eye
“The North has got him.”—Yukonism… I tried to refine that neighbor of… I grieved for his fate, and early… I gave him excuse, I bore his abu… I swore to prevail; I camped on h…
‘Twas in a village in Lorraine Whose name I quite forget, I found I needfully was fain To buy a serviette. I sought a shop wherein they sell
‘A man should write to please hims… He proudly said. Well, see his poems on the shelf, Dusty, unread. When he came to my shop each day,
No lyric line I ever penned The praise this parasitic bird; And what is more, I don’t intend To write a laudatory word, Since in my garden robins made
To be a bony feed Sourdough You must, by Yukon Law, Have killed a moose, And robbed a sluice, AND BUNKED UP WITH A SQU…
Three Triangles TRIANGLE ONE My husband put some poison in my b… And fondly hoped that I would dri… He would get rid of me —no bloody…
Though I defy the howling horde As bloody—browed I smite, Back to the wall with shattered sw… When darkly dooms the night; Though hoarse they cheer as I go…
He hurried away, young heart of jo… And I watched him go, my beautifu… For my hair is grey, and his was g… And I’d loved him so, and I’m old… Ah yes, he was proud and swift and…
I’ve often wondered why Old chaps who choose to die In evil passes, Before themselves they slay, Invariably they
The Countess sprawled beside the… As naked a she well could be; Indeed her only garments were A “G” string and a brassière Her washerwoman was amazed,
He dreamed away his hours in schoo… He sat with such an absent air, The master reckoned him a fool, And gave him up in dull despair. When other lads were making hay
Of bosom friends I’ve had but sev… Despite my years are ripe; I hope they’re now enjoying Heave… Although they’re not the type; Nor, candidly, no more am I,