Claude T. Cawley Poems

My oath to you the grandeur claims of gold
A thousand cities tribute could not mete
Or blames the failure of the sun to hold
A measure with your countenance complete
...

A cent, once spent, is gone,
And can't be spent ,
Through you may pine away and sigh,
And lift your eyes to look on high,
...

In summer here below
Where little roses blow,
The sky looks down with quiet eyes
The sky he laughs and then he cries.
...