Anthea bade me tye her shooe;
I did; and kist the Instep too:
And would have kist unto her knee,
Had not her Blush rebuked me.

VERSE

The odds were a hundred to one against me,
The world thought the heights were too high to climb.
But people from Missouri never incensed me:
Oh, I wasn't a bit concerned,
For from hist'ry I had learned
How many, many times the worm had turned.

REFRAIN 1

They all laughed at Christopher Columbus
When he said the world was round;
They all laughed when Edison recorded sound.
They all laughed at Wilbur and his brother
When they said that man could fly;
They told Marconi

VERSE

I'm a glum one; it's explainable:
I met someone unattainable;
Life's a bore,
The world is my oyster no more.
All the papers, where I led the news
With my capers, now will spread the news:
“Superman
Turns Out to Be Flash in the Pan.”

  REFRAIN 1

I've flown around the world in a plane;
I won the race from Newport to Maine;
The North Pole I have charted,
But I can't get started with you.
Around a golf course I'm under par;
The Theatre Guilders want me to star;
I've got a house—a showplace—

The answer that ye made to me, my dear,
When I did sue for my poor heart's redress,
Hath so appall'd my countenance and my cheer
That in this case I am all comfortless,
Since I of blame no cause can well express.

I have no wrong where I can claim no right,
Nought ta'en me fro where I have nothing had,
Yet of my woe I cannot so be quite:
Namely, since that another may be glad,
With that that thus in sorrow makes me sad.

Nor none can claim, I say, by former grant
That knoweth not of any grant at all;

Another year is dawning!
Dear Master, let it be,
In working or in waiting,
Another year with Thee.

Another year of leaning
Upon Thy loving breast,
Another year of trusting,
Of quiet, happy rest.

Another year of mercies,
Of faithfulness and grace;
Another year of gladness
In the shining of Thy face.

Another year of progress
Another year of praise;
Another year of proving
Thy presence all the days.

Another year of service,
Of witness for Thy love;
Another year of training

Spring
Another four I've left yet to bring on,
Of four times four the last Quaternion,
The Winter, Summer, Autumn and the Spring,
In season all these Seasons I shall bring:
Sweet Spring like man in his Minority,
At present claim'd, and had priority.
With smiling face and garments somewhat green,
She trim'd her locks, which late had frosted been,
Nor hot nor cold, she spake, but with a breath,
Fit to revive, the nummed earth from death.
Three months (quoth she) are 'lotted to my share
March, April, May of all the rest most fair.

He was running with his friend from town to town.
They were somewhere between Prague and Dresden.
He was fourteen. His friend was faster.
and knew a shortcut through the fields they could take.
He said there was lettuce growing in one of them,
and they hadn't eaten all day. His friend ran a few lengths ahead,
like a wild rabbit across the grass,
turned his head, looked back once,
and his body was scattered across the field.

My father told us this, one night,
and then continued eating dinner.

He brought them with him — the minefields.

Announced by all the trumpets of the sky,
Arrives the snow, and, driving o'er the fields,
Seems nowhere to alight: the whited air
Hides hills and woods, the river, and the heaven,
And veils the farm-house at the garden's end.
The sled and traveller stopped, the courier's feet
Delayed, all friends shut out, the housemates sit
Around the radiant fireplace, enclosed
In a tumultuous privacy of storm.

Come see the north wind's masonry.
Out of an unseen quarry evermore
Furnished with tile, the fierce artificer

— A NNIE Shore, 'twas, sang last night
— — Down in South End saloon;
— A tawdry creature in the light,
— Painted cheeks, eyes over bright,
— — Singing a dance-hall tune.

I'd be forgetting Annie's singing —
— I'd not have thought again —
But for the thing that cried and fluttered
— Through all the shrill refrain:
Youth crying above foul words, cheap music,
— And innocence in pain.

— They sentenced Johnnie Doon today
— — For murder, stark and grim:
— Death's none too dear a price, they say,

ANN , Ann!
 Come! quick as you can!
There's a fish that talks
 In the frying-pan.
Out of the fat,
 As clear as glass,
He put up his mouth
 And moaned ‘Alas!’
Oh, most mournful,
 ‘Alas, alack!’
Then turned to his sizzling,
 And sank him back.