Hero Worship
Said he: “You saw the Master clear; By Rushy Pond alone he sat, Serene and silent as a seer, In tweedy coat and seedy hat. You tell me you did not intrude, (Although his
What Kisses Had John Keats?
I scanned two lines with some surmise As over Keats I chanced to pore: ‘And there I shut her wild, wild eyes With kisses four.’ Says I: ‘Why was it only four, Not five
Ignorance
Oh happy he who cannot see With scientific eyes; Who does not know how flowers grow, And is not planet wise; Content to find with simple mind Joys as they are: To whom a
The Widower
Oh I have worn my mourning out, And on her grave the green grass grows; So I will hang each sorry clout High in the corn to scare the crows. And I will buy
The Macaronis
Italian people peaceful are, Let it be to their credit. They mostly fail to win a war, Oh they themselves have said it. “Allergic we to lethal guns And military might: We love our
The Pigeons Of St. Marks
Something’s wrong in Pigeon-land; ‘Tisn’t as it used to be, When the pilgrim, corn in hand, Courted us with laughing glee; When we crooned with pinions furled, Tamest pigeons in the world. When we
Reverence
I saw the Greatest Man on Earth, Aye, saw him with my proper eyes. A loin-cloth spanned his proper girth, But he was naked otherwise, Excepting for his grey sombrero; And when his domelike
The Ballad Of Blasphemous Bill
I took a contract to bury the body of blasphemous Bill MacKie, Whenever, wherever or whatsoever the manner of death he die Whether he die in the light o’ day or under the peak-faced
A Pot Of Tea
You make it in your mess-tin by the brazier’s rosy gleam; You watch it cloud, then settle amber clear; You lift it with your bay’nit, and you sniff the fragrant steam; The very breath
Ragetty Doll
Rosemary has of dolls a dozen, Yet she disdains them all; While Marie Rose, her pauper cousin Has just an old rag doll. But you should see her mother it, And with her kisses
The Actor
Enthusiastic was the crowd That hailed him with delight; The wine was bright, the laughter loud And glorious the night. But when at dawn he drove away With echo of their cheer, To where
Wounded
Is it not strange? A year ago to-day, With scarce a thought beyond the hum-drum round, I did my decent job and earned my pay; Was averagely happy, I’ll be bound. Ay, in my
Rhyme-Smith
Oh, I was born a lyric babe (That last word is a bore – It’s only rhyme is astrolabe,” Whose meaning I ignore.) From cradlehood I lisped in numbers, Made jingles even in my
The Rhyme Of The Restless Ones
We couldn’t sit and study for the law; The stagnation of a bank we couldn’t stand; For our riot blood was surging, and we didn’t need much urging To excitements and excesses that are
My Library
Like prim Professor of a College I primed my shelves with books of knowledge; And now I stand before them dumb, Just like a child that sucks its thumb, And stares forlorn and turns