O my prow vas plack mit curses, Ven I dries to write dose verses; Ven I dries to write dot boem, Dot de best was effer been. All in vain my peer I guzzles, But I gannod solve dot broblem,...
'Harry! what, that yourself, back to old Vic., man, Down from the Never Land? Now, what's your game? Ugly as ever. Not dropped the old trick, man? Say, what'll you take with me? Give it a name. ...
Who was it swept against my door just now, With rustling robes like Autumn's - was it thou? Ah! would it were thy gown against my door - Only thy gown once more. ...
Who would have thought that even an idle song Were such a holy and celestial thing That wickedness and envy cannot sing-- That music for no moment lives with wrong? I know this, for a very grievous throng,...
Why do eyes that were tender, Averted, turn away? Why has our dear love's splendour All faded into gray? Why is it that lips glow not That late were all aglow? I know not, dear, I know not,...
Why is it Alaskans all come back When they've quit this land for good? Why is it that no man stays away When he's sworn to his friends he would? Where lies the grip this country hath...
Lord, if I love Thee and Thou lovest me, Why need I any more these toilsome days; Why should I not run singing up Thy ways Straight into heaven, to rest myself with Thee?...
Do you know why the rabbits are caught in the snare Or the tabby cat's shot on the tiles? Why the tigers and lions creep out of their lair? Why an ostrich will travel for miles?...
Why be at pains that I should know You sought not me? Do breezes, then, make features glow So rosily? Come, the lit port is at our back, And the tumbling sea; Elsewhere the lampless uphill track...
Why did I sketch an upland green, And put the figure in Of one on the spot with me? - For now that one has ceased to be seen The picture waxes akin To a wordless irony. ...
Why does she so long delay? Night is waning fast away; Thrice have I my lamp renewed, Watching here in solitude, Where can she so long delay? Where, so long delay? ...
Why don't the men propose, mamma? Why don't the men propose? Each seems just coming to the point, And then away he goes; It is no fault of yours, mamma, That everybody knows;...
Why do they prate of the blessings of peace? we have made them a curse, Pickpockets, each hand lusting for all that is not its own; And lust of gain, in the spirit of Cain, is it better or worse...