It's enough to make me throw the chair through the panes of the mirror Into the street - There I sit with raised eyebrows: All bars are full, My bar is empty - isn't that terrific......
A is an Angel of blushing eighteen: B is the Ball where the Angel was seen: C is her Chaperone, who cheated at cards: D is the Deuxtemps, with Frank of the Guards: E is the Eye which those dark lashes cover:...
One tree, storm-twisted, like an evil hag, The sea-wind in its hair, beside a path Waves frantic arms, as if in wild-witch wrath At all the world. Gigantic, grey as slag,...
Oh, damsel fair at the Porte Maillot, With the soft blue eyes that haunt me so, Pray what should I do When a girl like you Bestows her smile, her glance, and her sigh...
Although I shall not see his face For the low riding of the ship, The three armorial oak-leaves on his cloak Will be enough. But what if I make a mistake And call to the wrong man?...
When first I saw our banner wave Above the nation's council-hall, I heard beneath its marble wall The clanking fetters of the slave! In the foul market-place I stood, And saw the Christian mother sold,...
The little hands returning wistfully From birdlike wand'rings, ever come to rest, On fostering hand on tender cheek or breast; The upturned eyes, with loving certainty...
A blanket low and leaden, Though rent across the west, Whose darkness seems to deaden The brightest and the best; A sunset white and staring On cloud-wrecks far away,...
And can this be my own world? 'Tis all gold and snow, Save where scarlet waves are hurled Down yon gulf below. 'Tis thy world, 'tis my world, City, mead, and shore, For he that hath his own world...
"Gabble-gabble,... brethren,... gabble-gabble!" My window frames forest and heather. I hardly hear the tuneful babble, Not knowing nor much caring whether The text is praise or exhortation,...
The firm house lingers, though averse to square With the new city street it has to wear A number in. But what about the brook That held the house as in an elbow-crook?...
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few, And men of religion are scanty, On a road never cross'd 'cept by folk that are lost, One Michael Magee had a shanty. ...