Poems with rhymes of grime

A box with paints from childhood's time:
The colors of town are earth and grime.

Love? . . . we will scarcely love our babes full many a time—
Knowing their souls and ours too well, and all our grime—

Exactly at the appointed time
A girl's slim figure, silk raimented,
Glides past the window's mist and grime.

Y' ought to seen dat man a-scramblin' f'om de ashes an' de grime.
Did it bu'n him! Sich a question, why he did n't give it time;

But though I pass before my time,
And perish in the grale and grime,

But write of gutter and of grime,
Of pimp and prostitute,
The multitude will read your rhyme,

The weariful wretches that crawl in its grime;
The dregs and the scum and the spawn of the slum,
And the poor little children that's cradled in crime.

Getting her pinafore all over grime.
Funny! because she died ten years ago!
It's a queer time.

My failing heart with fancies so sublime
I half forgot my path of dust and grime,

'I saw a sky of stars that rolled in grime.
All glory twinkled through some sweat of fight,
From each tall chimney of the roaring time

In a hue o' blackest crime,
An' he smeared his reputation
With the thickest kind o' grime,

Poor little orphan boy of five, the city smoke and grime
Taint every cooling breeze he gets throughout the summer time;

Oh I know you're cheap and vulgar, you're an instrumental crime.
In drawing-rooms you haven't got a show.
You're a musical abortion, you're the voice of grit and grime,

Stalking tremendous through the fields of time.
MAN is unborn. To-morrow he is born,
Flame-like to hover o’er the moil and grime,

Stalking tremendous through the fields of time.
MAN is unborn. To-morrow he is born,
Flame-like to hover o'er the moil and grime,

On a barren earth in the grime,
And not a poor blossom given,
No thing that was thinking of sunshine time,

Or else d'ye think of the many a time
We wished we too was dead,
Up to our knees in the freezin' grime,

Gits into a mix in the grit and the grime,
'E jerks up 'is 'ands wiv a yell and 'e's duly
Part of me outfit every time.

To where in San Diego's torrid clime
The swarthy Greaser swelters in his grime

Thank you, good Lord, for dinner-time!
Gladly I come from the sweat and grime