Clorinda met me on the way As I came from the train; Her face was anything but gay, In fact, suggested pain. "Oh hubby, hubby dear!" she cried, "I've awful news to tell. . . ."...
When the boys come out from Lac Labiche in the lure of the early Spring, To take the pay of the "Hudson's Bay", as their fathers did before, They are all a-glee for the jamboree, and they make the Landing ring...
I took the clock down from the shelf; "At eight," said I, "I shoot myself." It lacked a MINUTE of the hour, And as I waited all a-cower, A skinful of black, boding pain,...
I just think that dreams are best, Just to sit and fancy things; Give your gold no acid test, Try not how your silver rings; Fancy women pure and good, Fancy men upright and true:...
Another day of toil and strife, Another page so white, Within that fateful Log of Life That I and all must write; Another page without a stain To make of as I may, That done, I shall not see again...
Oh ye whose hearts are resonant, and ring to War's romance, Hear ye the story of a boy, a peasant boy of France; A lad uncouth and warped with toil, yet who, when trial came,...
He's yonder, on the terrace of the Cafe de la Paix, The little wizened Spanish man, I see him every day. He's sitting with his Pernod on his customary chair; He's staring at the passers with his customary stare....
Humping it here in the dug-out, Sucking me black dudeen, I'd like to say in a general way, There's nothing like Nickyteen; There's nothing like Nickyteen, me boys, Be it pipes or snipes or cigars;...
Because my overcoat's in pawn, I choose to take my glass Within a little bistro on The rue du Montparnasse; The dusty bins with bottles shine, The counter's lined with zinc,...
We're taking Marie Toro to her home in P're-La-Chaise; We're taking Marie Toro to her last resting-place. Behold! her hearse is hung with wreaths till everything is hid...
The lone man gazed and gazed upon his gold, His sweat, his blood, the wage of weary days; But now how sweet, how doubly sweet to hold All gay and gleamy to the campfire blaze....
Now Eddie Malone got a swell grammyfone to draw all the trade to his store; An' sez he: "Come along for a season of song, which the like ye had niver before."...
This is the pay-day up at the mines, when the bearded brutes come down; There's money to burn in the streets to-night, so I've sent my klooch to town,...
The cruel war was over - oh, the triumph was so sweet! We watched the troops returning, through our tears; There was triumph, triumph, triumph down the scarlet glittering street,...
There's a race of men that don't fit in, A race that can't stay still; So they break the hearts of kith and kin, And they roam the world at will. They range the field and they rove the flood,...
A bunch of the boys were whooping it up in the Malamute saloon; The kid that handles the music-box was hitting a jag-time tune; Back of the bar, in a solo game, sat Dangerous Dan McGrew,...
Oh, weren't they the fine boys! You never saw the beat of them, Singing all together with their throats bronze-bare; Fighting-fit and mirth-mad, music in the feet of them,...