Up in my garret bleak and bare I tilted back on my broken chair, And my three old pals were with me there, Hunger and Thirst and Cold; Hunger scowled at his scurvy mate:...
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,...
I'm crawlin' out in the mangolds to bury wot's left o' Joe - Joe, my pal, and a good un (God! 'ow it rains and rains). I'm sick o' seein' him lyin' like a 'eap o' offal, and so...
Oh, one gets used to everything! I hum a merry song, And up the street and round the square I wheel my chair along; For look you, how my chest is sound And how my arms are strong! ...
Have you gazed on naked grandeur where there's nothing else to gaze on, Set pieces and drop-curtain scenes galore, Big mountains heaved to heaven, which the blinding sunsets blazon,...
"How good God is to me," he said; "For have I not a mansion tall, With trees and lawns of velvet tread, And happy helpers at my call? With beauty is my life abrim, With tranquil hours and dreams apart;...
. . . So I walked among the willows very quietly all night; There was no moon at all, at all; no timid star alight; There was no light at all, at all; I wint from tree to tree,...
'Ave you seen Bill's mug in the Noos to-day? 'E's gyned the Victoriar Cross, they say; Little Bill wot would grizzle and run away, If you 'it 'im a swipe on the jawr....
The clover was in blossom, an' the year was at the June, When Flap-jack Billy hit the town, likewise O'Flynn's saloon. The frost was on the fodder an' the wind was growin' keen,...
There are strange things done in the midnight sun By the men who moil for gold; The Arctic trails have their secret tales That would make your blood run cold; The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,...
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....
I'm dead. Officially I'm dead. Their hope is past. How long I stood as missing! Now, at last I'm dead. Look in my face - no likeness can you see, No tiny trace of him they knew as "me"....
"But it isn't playing the game," he said, And he slammed his books away; "The Latin and Greek I've got in my head Will do for a duller day." "Rubbish!" I cried; "The bugle's call...
Smith, great writer of stories, drank; found it immortalised his pen; Fused in his brain-pan, else a blank, heavens of glory now and then; Gave him the magical genius touch; God-given power to gouge out, fling...
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."...
"Hae ye heard whit ma auld mither's postit tae me? It fair maks me hamesick," says Private McPhee. "And whit did she send ye?" says Private McPhun, As he cockit his rifle and bleezed at a Hun....
There was a woman, and she was wise; woefully wise was she; She was old, so old, yet her years all told were but a score and three; And she knew by heart, from finish to start, the Book of Iniquity. ...