A Poem by Anonymous

There was a young lady named Ruth,
Who had a great passion for truth.
   She said she would die
   Before she would lie,
And she died in the prime of her youth.

A Poem by Anonymous

I have felt the thrill of passion in the poet’s mystic book
And I’ve lingered in delight to catch the rhythm of the brook;
I’ve felt the ecstasy that comes when prima donnas reach
For upper C and hold it in a long, melodious screech.
And yet the charm of all these blissful memories fades away
As I think upon the fortune that befell the other day,
As I bring to recollection, with a joyous, wistful sigh,
That I woke and felt the need of extra covers in July.

Oh, eerie hour of drowsiness – ’twas like a fairy spell,
That respite from the terrors we have known, alas, so well,
The malevolent mosquito, with a limp and idle bill,
Hung supinely from the ceiling, all exhausted by his chill.
And the early morning sunbeam lost his customary leer
And brought a gracious greeting and a prophecy of cheer;
A generous affability reached up from earth to sky,
When I woke and felt the need of extra covers in July.

In every life there comes a time of happiness supreme,
When joy becomes reality and not a glittering dream.
‘Tis less appreciated, but it’s worth a great deal more
Than tides which taken at their flood lead on to fortune’s shore.
How vain is Art’s illusion, and how potent Nature’s sway
When once in kindly mood she deigns to waft our woes away!
And the memory will cheer me, though all other pleasures fly,
Of how I woke and needed extra covers in July.

A Poem by Anonymous

Here’s to a temperance supper,
With water in glasses tall,
And coffee and tea to end with
And me not there at all.

A Poem by Anonymous

There was a young person called Smarty,
Who sent out his cards for a party;
   So exclusive and few
   Were the friends that he knew
That no one was present but Smarty.

A Poem by Anonymous

 She smiles, my darling smiles, and all
    The world is filled with light;
 She laughs – ’tis like the bird’s sweet call,
    In meadows fair and bright.
 She weeps – the world is cold and gray,
    Rain-clouds shut out the view;
 She sings – I softly steal away
    And wait till she gets through.

A Poem by Anonymous

Take a personal hatred of authors,
   Mix this with a fiendish delight
In refusing all efforts of genius
   And maiming all poets on sight.

A Poem by Anonymous

A scrupulous priest of Kildare,
Used to pay a rude peasant to swear,
Who would paint the air blue,
For an hour or two,
While his reverence wrestled in prayer.

A Poem by Anonymous

I never see my rector’s eyes;
He hides their light divine;
For when he prays, he shuts his own,
And when he preaches, mine.

A Poem by Anonymous

 With due condescension, I’d call your attention
 To what I shall mention of Erin so green,
 And without hesitation I will show how that nation
 Became of creation the gem and the queen.

 ‘Twas early one morning, without any warning,
 That Vanus was born in the beautiful say,
 And by the same token, and sure ’twas provoking,
 Her pinions were soaking and wouldn’t give play.

 Old Neptune, who knew her, began to pursue her,
 In order to woo her, the wicked old Jew,
 And almost had caught her atop of the water,
 Great Jupiter’s daughter! which never would do.

 But Jove, the great janius, looked down and saw Vanus,
 And Neptune so heinous pursuing her wild,
 And he spoke out in thunder, he’d rend him asunder,
 And sure ’twas no wonder, for tazing his child.

 A star that was flying hard by him espying,
 He caught with small trying, and down let it snap;
 It fell quick as winking, on Neptune a-sinking,
 And gave him, I’m thinking, a bit of a rap.

 That star it was dry land, both low land and high land,
 And formed a sweet island, the land of my birth;
 Thus plain is the story, that sent down from glory,
 Old Erin asthore as the gem of the earth!

 Upon Erin nately jumped Vanus so stately,
 But fainted, kase lately so hard she was pressed,
 Which much did bewilder, but ere it had killed her
 Her father distilled her a drop of the best.

 That sup was victorious, it made her feel glorious,
 A little uproarious, I fear it might prove,
 So how can you blame us that Ireland’s so famous
 For drinking and beauty, for fighting and love?

A Poem by Anonymous

There once was a man from Nantucket,
Who kept all of his cash in a bucket,
But his daughter, named Nan,
Ran away with a man,
And as for the bucket, Nantucket.