When Papa’s Sick (Joseph C Lincoln Poems)
When Papa's sick, my goodness sakes!Such awful, awful times it makes.He speaks in, oh! such lonesome tones,And gives such ghas'ly ...
When Papa's sick, my goodness sakes!Such awful, awful times it makes.He speaks in, oh! such lonesome tones,And gives such ghas'ly ...
Rolling wind-driven breakers ashore from the west,Splash my breast with the chill of your waves, or to meGrant your power ...
Ho! it's come, kids, come! "With a bim! bam! bum! Here's little Billy bangin' on his big bass drum! He's a-marchin' round the ...
The cat sleeps in a chimney jamWith ashes in her fur,An' Tige, from on the yuther side,He keeps his eye ...
Papa daddy, Momma-love,Cozy playpen, home-sweet-home,Choc'late Santa, Auntie Dove,Pie tastes just like poison foam.When I vomit in the hallwayBrother starts to ...
C'?tait quand le printemps a reverdi les pr?s. La fille de Lycus, vierge aux cheveux dor?s, Sous les monts Ach?ens, ...
UN CHEVRIER, UN BERGER LE CHEVRIER Berger, quel es-tu donc? qui t'agite? et quels dieux De noirs cheveux ?pars enveloppent ...
Quoi! tandis que partout, ou sinc?res ou feintes, Des l?ches, des pervers, les larmes et les plaintes Consacrent leur Marat ...
BLAZ1N' STAR, from Boston city -- Yankee goods and kerosene; Foreign crew and cook and master; stout, old-fashioned brigantine. Hamburg-built ...
Howdy sistah Tootles! Ah's jes' er passin' by. Thought I'd kindah drap in Let yo' kno' revival's nigh. Hain't seed ...
Sis licet felix ubicunque mavisEt memor nostri . . . vivasOn river banks my love was born,And cradled 'neath a ...
I. O wild kaleidoscopic panorama of jaculatory arms and legs. The twisting, twining, turning, tussling, throwing, thrusting, throttling, tugging, thumping, the tightening thews. The tearing of tangled trousers, the jut of giant calves protuberant. The wriggleness, the wormlike, snaky movement and life of it; The insertion of strong men in the mud, the wallowing, the stamping with thick shoes; The rowdyism, and élan, the slugging and scraping, the cowboy Homeric ferocity. (Ah, well kicked, red legs! Hit her up, you muddy little hero, you!) The bleeding noses, the shins, the knuckles abraded: That's the way to make men! Go it, you border ruffians, I like ye.II. Only two sorts of men are any good, I wouldn't give a cotton hat for no other — The Poet and the Plug Ugly. They are picturesque. O, but ain't they? These college chaps, these bouncing fighters from M'Gill and Toronto, Are all right. I must have a fighter, a bully, somewhat of a desperado; Of course, I prefer them raw, uneducated, unspoiled by book rot; I reckon these young fellows, these howling Kickapoos of the puddle, these boys, Have been uneducated to an undemocratic and feudal-aristocratic extent; Lord! how they can kick, though! Another man slugged there!III. Unnumbered festoons of pretty Canadian girls, I salute you; Howl away, you non-playing encouragers of the kickers! Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, Rah, M'Gill! Rah, Rah, Rah, Sis, Boom, Toronto! Lusty-throated give it! O, wild, tumultuous, multitudinous shindy. Well, this is the boss; This is worth coming twenty miles to see. Personally, I haven't had so much fun since I was vaccinated. I wonder if the Doctor spectates it. Here is something beyond his plesiosauri. Pure physical glow and exultation this of abundantest muscle: I wish John Sullivan were here.IV. O, the kicking, stamping, punching, the gore and the glory of battle! Kick, kick, kick, kick, kick, kick. Will you kick! You kickers, scoop up the mud, steam plough the field, Fall all over yourselves, squirm out! Look at that pile-driver of a full-back there! Run, leg it, hang on to the ball; say, you big chump, don't you kill that little chap When you are about it. Well, I'd like to know what a touch down is, then? Draw? Where's your draw? Yer lie!(Anonymous Americas)
I.—BY THE CRADLE.Close her eyes: she must not peep!Let her little puds go slack;Slide away far into sleep:Sis will watch ...
WITH tallow casks all dunnaged tight, with tiers on tiers ol bales, With cargo crammed from hatch to hatch, she ...
I. S. APOLLINARE IN CLASSE: RAVENNA A temple by the wayside, a shut gate Which no priest enters, going in ...
Oor Sis is a mitherly sort o' a bairn,An unco gleg thing, an' sae easy to learn,That let her see ...
'Cause brother Ben has gone to fight Across the sea so far, I like to sit around ...
OH, swinging down the Western Main, And roaring round the Horn, We'll bring her to the docks again With California's ...
Exchange in greed the ungraceful signs. Thrust The thick notes between green apple breasts. Then the shadow of the devil ...
I ain't a-goin' to cry no more, no more! I'm got ear-ache, an' Ma can't make It quit a-tall; An' ...
The widow sought the lawyer's room with children three in tow, She told the lawyer man her tale in tones ...
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