Stupidity, woe’s anodyne, Be kind and comfort me in mine; Smooth out the furrows of my brow, Make me as carefree as a cow, Content to sleep and eat and drink
We have no aspiration vain For paradise Utopian, And here in our sun—happy Spain, Though man exploit his fellow man, To high constraint we humbly yield…
The man above was a murderer, the… And I lay there in the bunk betwe… A weary armful of skin and bone, w… My feet were froze, and the lifele… The little flesh that clung to my…
You see that sheaf of slender book… Upon the topmost shelf, At which no browser ever looks, Because they’re by . . . myself; They’re neatly bound in navy blue,
Obit 23rd April 1616 Is it not strange that on this com… Two titans of their age, aye of al… Together should renounce this mort… And rise like gods, unsullied and…
Dogs have a sense beyond our ken — At least my little Trixie had: Tail—wagging when I laughed, and… I sighed, eyes luminously sad. And if I planned to go away,
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
School yourself to savour most Joys that have but little cost; Prove the best of life is free, Sun and stars and sky and sea; Eager in your eyes to please,
Playboy I greet the challenge of the dawn With weary, bleary eyes; Into the sky so ashen wan I wait the sun to rise;
Up in my garret bleak and bare I tilted back on my broken chair, And my three old pals were with me… Hunger and Thirst and Cold; Hunger scowled at his scurvy mate:
“The spirits do not like the light… The medium said, and turned the sw… The little lady on my right Clutched at my hand with nervous t… (She seemed to be a pretty bitch.)
I never could imagine God: I don’t suppose I ever will. Beside His altar fire I nod With senile drowsiness but still In old of age as sight grows dim
As I go forth from fair to mart With racket ringing, Who would divine that in my heart Mad larks are singing. As I sweet sympathy express,
I like to think that when I fall, A rain—drop in Death’s shoreless… This shelf of books along the wall… Beside my bed, will mourn for me. Regard it. . . . Aye, my taste is…
“Give me my daily bread. It seems so odd, When all is done and said, This plea to God. To pray for cake might be