Hey, out there! —assistant professors, full, Associates, —instructors—others—any— I have a sing to shay. We are assembled here in the capital City for Dull—and one professor’s wife is Mary— At Christmastide, hey! And all

Darkened his eye, his wild smile disappeared, Inapprehensible his studies grew, Nourished he less & less His subject body with good food & rest, Something bizarre about Henry, slowly sheared Off, unlike you &

Westward, hit a low note, for a roarer lost Across the Sound but north from Bremerton, Hit a way down note. And never cadenza again of flowers, or cost. Him who could really do

—Thass a funny title, Mr Bones. €”When down she saw her feet, sweet fish, on the threshold, She considered her fair shoulders And all them hundreds who have them, all The more who to

Henry of Donnybrook bred like a pig, Bred when he was brittle, bred when big, How he’s sweating to support them. Which birthday of the brighter darker man, The Goya of the Globe &

Tell it to the forest fire, tell it to the moon, Mention it in general to the moon On the way down, He’s about to have his lady, permanent; And this is the worst

While his wife earned the living, Rabbi Henry Studied the Torah, writing commentaries More likely to be burnt than printed. It was rumoured that they needed revision. Smiling, kissing, he bent his head not

In slack times visit I the violent dead And pick their awful brains. Most seem to feel Nothing is secret more To my disdain I find, when we who fled Cherish the knowings of