As I went a-walking on Lavender Hill, O, I met a Darling in frock and frill; And she looked at me shyly, with eyes of blue, "Are you going a-walking? Then take me too!" ...
Not for the love of women toil we, we of the craft, Not for the people's praise; Only because our goddess made us her own and laughed, Claiming us all our days, ...
Sons of the South, awake! arise! Sons of the South, and do. Banish from under your bonny skies Those old-world errors and wrongs and lies. Making a hell in a Paradise That belongs to your sons and you....
Whatever the path may be, my dear, Let us follow it far away from here, Let us follow it back to Yester-Year, Whatever the path may be: Again let us dream where the land lies sunny,...
No, Bill, I'm not a-spooning out no patriotic tosh (The cove be'ind the sandbags ain't a death-or-glory cuss). And though I strafes 'em good and 'ard I doesn't 'ate the Boche,...
Oh the snow, - the bright fleecy snow! Isn't it grand when the north breezes blow? Isn't it bracing the ice to skim o'er, With a jovial friend or the one you adore?...
Roaring winds that rocked the crow, High in his eyrie, All night long, and to and fro Swung the cedar and drove the snow Out of the North, have ceased to blow, And dawn breaks fiery....
Now, this is the cup the White Men drink When they go to right a wrong, And that is the cup of the old world's hate, Cruel and strained and strong. We have drunk that cup, and a bitter, bitter cup,...
A song I sing o' t' Yorkshire dales, That winnd frae t' moors to t' sea; Frae t' breast o' t' fells, wheer t' cloud-rack sails, Their becks flow merrily. Their banks are breet wi' moss an' broom,...
Where's the lamp that Hero lit Once to call Leander home? Equal Time hath shovelled it 'Neath the wrack of Greece and Rome. Neither wait we any more That worn sail which Argo bore. ...
The summer dawn is breaking On Auburn's tangled bowers, The golden light is waking On Harvard's ancient towers; The sun is in the sky That must see us do or die,...
It isn't the foe that we fear; It isn't the bullets that whine; It isn't the business career Of a shell, or the bust of a mine; It isn't the snipers who seek To nip our young hopes in the bud:...
If the quick spirits in your eye Now languish and anon must die; If every sweet and every grace Must fly from that forsaken face; Then, Celia, let us reap our joys Ere Time such goodly fruit destroys....
Lord Jesus, Oh, ease us Of Self that oppresses, Annoys and distresses Body and brain With dull pain! Thou never, Since ever, Save one moment only, Wast left, or wast lonely:...
Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring So long delays her flowers to bear; Why warbling birds forget to sing, And winter storms invert the year: Chloris is gone, and fate provides...
Oh would I were the roses, that lie against her hands, The heavy burning roses she touches as she stands! Dear hands that hold the roses, where mine would love to be,...