O, the Kaiser's bhoys are marching, "nach Paris" they are going, But they've sthopped to rest a minit at the Marne and at the Meuse; And the Gordons and the Ministers are thryin' to entertain them,...
What are the Kaiser's favorite poems? Well, now, you tax me hard: I know the Kaiser's favorite drink But do not know his bard; I'm sure it is not Schiller Who reigns in German homes....
The Kaiser is seeking "a place in the Sun" But I fear he'll have to wait, Till another eclipse has dulled its face And the Allies have woven his fate: For the "spots" on the Sun are all occupied...
A stone jug and a pewter mug, And a table set for three! A jug and a mug at every place, And a biscuit or two with Brie! Three stone jugs of Cruiskeen Lawn, And a cheese like crusted foam!...
In a great western wind we climbed the hill And saw the clouds run up, ride high and sink; And there were shadows running at our feet Till it seemed the very earth could not be still,...
There's many a house of grandeur, With turret, tower and dome, That knows not peace or comfort, And does not prove a home. I do not ask for splendor To crown my daily lot, But this I ask -a kitchen...
"On the east coast, towards Tunis, the Moors still preserve the key of their ancestors' houses in Spain; to which country they still express the hopes of one day returning and again planting the crescent on the ancient walls of...
Where are the songs I used to know, Where are the notes I used to sing? I have forgotten everything I used to know so long ago; Summer has followed after Spring; Now Autumn is so shrunk and sere,...
While at her bedroom window once, Learning her task for school, Little Louisa lonely sat In the morning clear and cool, She slanted her small bead-brown eyes Across the empty street,...
Oh! it is not just the men who face the guns, Not the fighters at the Front alone, to-day Who will bring the longed-for close to the bloody fray, for those Could not carry on that fray without the ones...
Among the tales, wherein it hath been told, In golden letters in a book of gold, Of Hatim Ta''s hospitality, Who, substanceless in death and shadowy,...