In times of joy, all of us wished we possessed a tail we could wag.

In the nightmare of the dark - All the dogs of Europe bark, And the living nations wait, Each sequestered in its hate

Even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot Where the dogs go on with their doggy life

I sit in one of the dives On Fifty-Second Street Uncertain and afraid As the clever hopes expire Of a low dishonest decade: Waves of anger and fear Circulate over the bright And darkened lands of the earth, Obsessing our private lives; The unmentiona

Murder is commoner among cooks than among members of any other profession

O for doors to be open and an invite with gilded edges / To dine with Lord Lobcock and Count Asthma.