Fighting Mac (Robert William Service Poems)
A Life TragedyA pistol shot rings round and round the world;In pitiful defeat a warrior lies.A last defiance to dark ...
A Life TragedyA pistol shot rings round and round the world;In pitiful defeat a warrior lies.A last defiance to dark ...
A Life Tragedy A pistol shot rings round and round the world; In pitiful defeat a warrior lies. A last ...
O'er the dark pines she sees the silver moon, And in the west, all tremulous, a star; And soothing sweet ...
The portrait there above my bed They tell me is a work of art; My Wife,--since twenty years she's dead: ...
In idle dream with pipe in hand I looked across the Square, And saw the little chapel stand In eloquent ...
'Twas up in a land long famed for gold, where women were far and rare, Tellus, the smith, had taken ...
When a girl's sixteen, and as poor as she's pretty, And she hasn't a friend and she hasn't a home, ...
I've wearied of so many things Adored in youthful days; Music no more my spirit wings, E'en when Master play. ...
She risked her all, they told me, bravely sinking The pinched economies of thirty years; And there the little shop ...
A-sitttin' on a cracker box an' spittin' in the stove, I took a sudden notion that I'd kindo' like to ...
He gave a picture exhibition, Hiring a little empty shop. Above its window: FREE ADMISSION Cajoled the passers-by to stop; ...
We're taking Marie Toro to her home in Père-La-Chaise; We're taking Marie Toro to her last resting-place. Behold! her hearse ...
That Barret, the painter of pictures, what feeling for color he had! And Fanning, the maker of music, such melodies ...
The Dreamer visioned Life as it might be, And from his dream forthright a picture grew, A painting all the ...
I Let others sing of gold and gear, the joy of being rich; But oh, the days when I was ...
Blind Peter Piper used to play All up and down the city; I'd often meet him on my way, And ...
I wish that I could understand The moving marvel of my Hand; I watch my fingers turn and twist, The ...
To Dawson Town came Percy Brown from London on the Thames. A pane of glass was in his eye, and ...
I wish I had a simple style In writing verse, As in his prose had Ernie Pyle, So true and ...
In stilly grove beside the sea He mingles colours, measures space; A bronze and breezy man is he, Yet peace ...
I made a picture; all my heart I put in it, and all I knew Of canvas-cunning and of Art, ...
She was a Philistine spick and span, He was a bold Bohemian. She had the mode, and the last at ...
You ask me what I call Success - It is, I wonder, Happiness? It is not wealth, it is not ...
My mother loved her horses and Her hounds of pedigree; She did not kiss the baby hand I held to ...
Alas! I am only a rhymer, I don't know the meaning of Art; But I learned in my little school ...
Three men I saw beside a bar, Regarding o'er their bottle, A frog who smoked a rank cigar They'd jammed ...
While I am emulating Keats My brother fabrics toilet seats, The which, they say, are works of art, Aesthetic features ...
A pencil, sir; a penny -- won't you buy? I'm cold and wet and tired, a sorry plight; Don't turn ...
Smith, great writer of stories, drank; found it immortalized his pen; Fused in his brain-pan, else a blank, heavens of ...
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