Finnigan's Finish
They thought I’d be a champion; They boasted loud of me. A dozen victories I’d won, The Press was proud of me. I saw myself with glory crowned, And would, beyond a doubt, Till
Room Ghost
Though elegance I ill afford, My living-room is green and gold; The former tenant was a lord Who died of drinking, I am told. I fancy he was rather bored; I don’t think he
Grand-Pa's Whim
While for me gapes the greedy grave It don’t make sense That I should have a crazy crave To paint our fence. Yet that is what I aim to do, Though dim my sight:
Sentimental Shark
Give me a cabin in the woods Where not a human soul intrudes; Where I can sit beside a stream Beneath a balsam bough and deam, And every morning see arise The sun like
Four-Foot Shelf
‘Come, see,’ said he, ‘my four-foot shelf, A forty volume row; And every one I wrote myself, But that, of course, you know.’ I stared, I searched a memory dim, For though an author
Men Of The High North
Men of the High North, the wild sky is blazing; Islands of opal float on silver seas; Swift splendors kindle, barbaric, amazing; Pale ports of amber, golden argosies. Ringed all around us the proud
Cowardice
Although you deem it far from nice, And it perchance may hurt you, Let me suggest that cowardice Can masquerade as virtue; And many a maid remains a maid Because she is afraid. And
Milking Time
There’s a drip of honeysuckle in the deep green lane; There’s old Martin jogging homeward on his worn old wain; There are cherry petals falling, and a cuckoo calling, calling, And a score of
A Little Prayer
Let us be thankful, Lord, for little things – The song of birds, the rapture of the rose; Cloud-dappled skies, the laugh of limpid springs, Drowned sunbeams and the perfume April blows; Bronze wheat
Wonder
For failure I was well equipped And should have come to grief, By atavism grimly gripped, A fool beyond belief. But lo! the Lord was good to me, And with a heart to sing,
My Boss
My Boss keeps sporty girls, they say; His belly’s big with cheer. He squanders in a single day What I make in a year. For I must toil with bloody sweat, And body bent
Einstein
A little mousey man he was With board, and chalk in hand; And millions were awestruck because They couldn’t understand. Said he: ‘E equals Mc2: I’ll prove it true.’ No doubt you can, your
The Man From Cook's
“You’re bloody right – I was a Red,” The Man from Cook’s morosely said. And if our chaps had won the War Today I’d be the Governor Of all Madrid, and rule with pride,
The Three Voices
The waves have a story to tell me, As I lie on the lonely beach; Chanting aloft in the pine-tops, The wind has a lesson to teach; But the stars sing an anthem of
Sinister Sooth
Because my eyes were none to bright Strong spectacles I bought, And lo! there sprang into my sight A life beyond my thought: A world of wonder and delight My magic lenses brought. Aye,