One night in late October,
When I was far from sober,
Returning with my load with manly pride,
My feet began to stutter,
So I lay down in the gutter,
And a pig came near and lay down by my side;
A lady passing by was heard to say:
"You can tell a man who boozes,
By the company he chooses,"
And the pig got up and slowly walked away.

One night came Winter noiselessly and leaned
— Against my window-pane.
In the deep stillness of his heart convened
— The ghosts of all his slain.

Leaves, and ephemera, and stars of earth,
— And fugitives of grass, —
White spirits loosed from bonds of mortal birth,
— He drew them on the glass.

One night as I lay on my bed,
And sleep on fleeting foot had fled,
Because, no doubt, my mind was heavy
With concern for my last journey:

I got me up and called for water,
That I might wash, and so feel better;
But before I wet my eyes so dim,
There was Death on the bowl's rim.

I went to church that I might pray,
Thinking sure he'd keep away;
But before I got on to my feet,
There sat Death upon my seat.

To my chamber then I hied,
Thinking sure he'd keep outside;
But though I firmly locked the door,

One night as Dick lay fast asleep,
— — Into his drowsy eyes
A great still light began to creep
— — From out the silent skies.
It was the lovely moon's, for when
— — He raised his dreamy head,
Her surge of silver filled the pane
— — And streamed across his bed.
So, for a while, each gazed at each —
— — Dick and the solemn moon —
Till, climbing slowly on her way,
— — She vanished, and was gone.

One Mr. B — — ,
A joker he,
While in a jovial mood,
Tried to explain
To neighbor N — —
A joke which he thought good.

His hearer, Neff,
Was very deaf,
And couldn't catch the joke;
Whereat B — — smiled,
Though slightly " riled, "
And thus to him he spoke: —

" 'Tis plain to me
As A B C,
My dear friend, Mr. Neff! "
" Oh, yes! but then, "
Says Mr. N — — ,
" You know I'm D E F! "

One morning, one morning, the weather being fine,
The mother and the daughter walked out to take the air;
And as they were a-walking this maid began to vow:
" I must and I will get married,
I'm in the notion now. "

" Oh daughter, oh daughter, 'tis hold your foolish tongue,
What makes you want to marry? You know you are too young. "
" I'm sixteen now, dear mother, and that you must allow,
I must and I will get married, I'm in the notion now. "

" Suppose you were to try, dear, and could not find a man? "

One morning in the month of May,
Down by the rolling river,
A jolly sailor he did stray,
There he beheld some lover.
She scarcely along did stray
A-viewing of those daisies gay,
She sweetly sang a roundelay
Just as the tide was a-flowing.

And her dress it was as white as milk
And jewels did around her;
Her shoes were of the crimson silk
Just like some lady.
Her cheeks were red, her eyes were brown,
Her hair in ringlets hanging down;
Her lovely brow without a frown
Just as the tide was a-flowing.

(For Sixth Platoon 308th I.T.C.)

One morning in spring
We marched from Devizes
All shapes and all sizes,
Like beads on a string,
But yet with a swing
We trod the bluemetal
And full of high fettle
We started to sing.

She ran down the stair
A twelve-year-old darling
And laughing and calling
She tossed her bright hair;
Then silent to stare
At the men flowing past her —
There were all she could master
Adoring her there.

It's seldom I'll see
A sweeter or prettier,

One morning before Titan thought of stirring his feet
I climbed alone to a hill where the air was kind,
And saw a throng of magical girls go by
That had lived to the north in Croghan time out of mind.

All over the land from Galway to Cork of the ships,
It seemed that a bright enchanted mist came down,
Acorns on oaks and clear cold honey on stones,
Fruit upon every tree from root to crown.

They lit three candles that shone in the mist like stars
On a high hilltop in Connello and then were gone,

One more Unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,
Gone to her death!

Take her up tenderly,
Lift her with care;
Fashioned so slenderly,
Young, and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;
Whilst the wave constantly
Drips from her clothing;
Take her up instantly,
Loving, not loathing.--

Touch her not scornfully;
Think of her mournfully,
Gently and humanly;
Not of the stains of her,
All that remains of her
Now is pure womanly.

Make no deep scrutiny
Into her mutiny
Rash and undutiful: