 The Publisher by C. J. Dennis, read for LibriVox.org by Anna Gingello. I'd like to be a publisher and publish massive tomes, written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes, science books and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's, books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of Moems, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where Topsy Rome's when her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes, books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and alohms, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes, books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodomes, on bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs, made a plane with pretty pictures done in crimson's walls and chromes, and diagrams to bulk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-eated gnomes, and make them write and write and write until the printer foams, and my no-man-made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would, large books on ants and antonomes, and palimp sets and palanodes and pallid palindromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Publisher by CJ Dennis, read for LibriVox.org by Alex Eating. I'd like to be a publisher and publish massive tomes, written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes, science books and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's. Books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of... ...momes? And solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes, when her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds with the ohms, to certainly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding airplanes and airing aerodomes, on bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs, made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's mobs and chromes and diagrams to bulk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like superheated gnomes and make them write and write and write until the printer foams and line-o-men made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would, large books on ants and antinomes and pamphletsets and palindodes and palid palindromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems, would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Publisher by CJ Dennis, read for LibriVox.org by Antoinette Griffin. I'd like to be a publisher and publish Massive Tomes, written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes, science books and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's, books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of mohms, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes, when her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes, books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes, books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees that buzz in bonnets, and the kind that build the combs, made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's, mohms and chromes, and diagrams to balk the brain of Mr. Sherlock I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes, and make them write, and write, and write, until the printer foams, and linoman made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books, I would, large books on ants and antonomes, and polymcesses, and palanodes, and pallid palindromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if—I got many poems, would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Publisher by C. J. Dennis Read for LibriVox.org by David Lawrence I'd like to be a publisher, and publish Massive Tomes, written in a massive style, by blokes with massive domes, science books, and histories of Egypt's day and roams, books of psychosurgery to mine the mines of mohms, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy roams when her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading ohms, books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams, and bravely burst infinitives like angry angronomes, books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees at buzz and bonnets, and the kind that build the combs, made plain with pretty pictures done in crimsons, moves, and chromes, and diagrams to bulk the mind of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like superheated gnomes, and make them write and write and write until the printer foams and Lionel men made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books, I would, large books on ants and antinomes, and palimposettes, and palanodes, and palindromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? I'd like to be a publisher and publish massive tomes, written in a massive style by blocks with massive domes, science books and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's, books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of moems, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell well top-series of the world. I'd like to be a publisher and publish books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of moems, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell well top-series of the world, where her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes, books about electrocuting little seeds with omes, to stern show them how to grow incense and clays and loams, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes, books on breeding airplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees that buzz in the bonnets and kinet-billed combs, manning plain with pretty pictures down in crimson's, moves and chromes, and diagrams to bulk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-hated gnomes, and make them write and write and write until the printer films, and little men made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would. Large books on ants and antenomes and palimpsets and palinodes and pallid palim-dromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in a public domain. Well, what looks with massive domes? Silence books and histories of Egypt's day and roms? Books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of moans. And solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where Topsie roms, when her pork-lay is put away beneath the spreading of moans? Books about electrocuting little to still only show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams, and bravely burst infinitives like angry angronomes, books on breeding, aeroplanes and errands, aerodromes, on bees that buzz and bonnets in a column that builds the cones, mid-plane with pretty pictures, stunning crimsons, moves and crumbs, and diagrams to bark the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes, and make them wright and wright and wright until the printer foams, and liner men made gloony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books all wood, large books on ants and antonomes, and palancysts, and palanodes, and pallid paladromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Publisher by C. J. Dennis, read for LibriVox.org by Joy Chan. I'd like to be a publisher and publish mass of tomes, written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes, science books and histories of Egypt's day and roams, books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of moans, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes when her poor clays put away beneath the spreading homes, books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes, books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees that buzz and bonnets and the kind that build the combs, made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's moaves and chromes, and diagrams to balk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes, and make them write and write and write until the printer foams, and Lion-O-Men made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books, I would, large books on ants and antonomes, and palimpsests and palanodes and pallid palindromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. I'd publish massive tomes, written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes. Science books and histories of Egypt's day in Rome's, books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of moans, and solemn pseudo-psychet stuff to tell where topsy-romes, when herb for clay, is put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds and ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and looms, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees at buzz and bonnets, and the kind that build the combs, made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson swaths and chromes, and diagrams about the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes, and make them ride and ride and ride until a printer foams, and line old men made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would, large books on ants and antinomes, and palimpsests and palindodes and pallid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the domain. The Publisher by CJ Dennis, read for LibriVox.org by James Martin. July 4th, 2009, Boston, Massachusetts. I'd like to be a publisher, and publish massive tomes, written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes. Science books, and histories of Egypt's day, and Rome's, books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of momes, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes when her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes, books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees that buzz in bonnets, and the kind that built the combs, made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's, mauves, and chromes, and diagrams to bulk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work, like super-heated gnomes, and make them write, and write, and write until the printer foams and lino-men made Looney go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books, I would, large books on ants, and antinomes, and palimpests, and palanodes, and pallid palindromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Publisher by C. J. Dennis. Read for LibreVox.org by Jennifer Stearns. Concord, New Hampshire. July 4, 2009. I'd like to be a publisher, and publish Massive Tomes, written in a massive style but blokes with massive domes, science books and histories of Egypt's day in Rome's, books of psycho-surgery to mine the minds of mohms, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell Wotopsie-Rome's what her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes, books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays of mohms, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes, books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees and buzz and bonnets, and the kind that build the combs, made plain with pretty pictures, dead in crimson's, mobs and chromes, and diagrams to valk the brain, Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated nomes, and make them right and right and right until the printer foams, and Lionel Mann made Looney go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would, large books in ants and antonomes, and pamphletsets and palanodes and pallet palindromes, but I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems, would you? And a poem. This recording is in the public domain. Written in a massive style, by blokes with massive domes. Science books and histories of Egypt's day in Rome's, books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of mohms, and solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes when her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs, made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's mobs and chromes, and diagrams to balk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated nomes, and make them right and right and until the printer foams and lino-men made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books, I would. Large books on ants and antemones, and polymsis, and palanodes, and pallid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams, and bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes, on bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs, made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's mobs and chromes, and diagrams to balk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated nomes, and make them right and right and right until the printer foams, and lino-men made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books, I would. Large books on ants and antemones, and palan sets, and palanodes, and pallid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Publisher by C. J. Dennis. Read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Perry. Like to be a publisher and publish massive tomes, written in massive styles by blokes with massive domes. Science books and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's. Books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of mohms. And solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes. When her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms, to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and lohms. And bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes. On bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs. Made plain with pretty pictures done in crimsons, morphs and chromes. And diagrams to walk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes, and make them write and write and write until the printer foams. And line-o-men made Looney go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would. Large books on ants and antinomes. And pamphletsests and palinodes and pallid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems, would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. And solums pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes when her poor clays put away beneath the spready homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms, to sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and lohms. And bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes. On bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs. Made plain with pretty pictures done in crimsons, moves and chromes. And diagrams to balk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes, and make them write and write and write until the printer foams and line-o-men made Looney go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would. Large books on ants and antinomes. And palimpsests and palanodes and palid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Publisher by C.J. Dennis. Read for LibriVox.org by Matthew Hansen, a.k.a. Podvoxa. I'd like to be a publisher and publish massive tomes written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes. Science books and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's. Books of psychosurgery to mind the minds of moems. And solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes. When her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting seeds with ohms. To sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams. And bravely bust infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes. On bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs. Made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's, mauves, and chromes. And diagrams to bulk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes. And make them right and right and right until the print of foams. And lino-men made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would. Large books on ants and antonomes and palimpsets and palan nodes and pallid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poms, would you? End of The Publisher. This recording is in the public domain. The Publisher by C. J. Dennis. Read filibrivox.org by Ruth Golding. I'd like to be a publisher. And publish massive tomes written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes. Science books and histories of Egypt's stay and Rome's. Books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of momes. And solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes when her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms. To sternly show them how to grow in sand and clays and loams. And bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes. On bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs. Made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's moves and chromes. And diagrams to balk the brain of Mr. Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes. And make them right and right and right until the printer foams. And linomen made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would. Large books on ants and antinomes. And palimpsests and palinodes and pallid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. What do you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A Publisher by CJ Dennis. Read for LibriBox.org by Reverend Nottingham. I'd like to be a publisher and publish massive tomes. Written in a massive style, by blokes with massive domes. Science books and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's. Books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of moems. And solemn pseudo psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes, when her poor clays put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms. To sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams. And bravely burst infinities like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodomes. On bees that buzz in bonnets. And the kind that build the combs. Made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's, moves and chromes. And diagrams to bulk the brain of Mr Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like superheated gnomes. And make them right and right and right. Until the printer foams and lino-men made looney go to psychopathic homes. I published books, I would. Large books on ants and antinomes. And palimpsests and palanotes and pallid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Histories of Egypt's day and roams. Books of seco-sedury to mine the mines of moams. And solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes. When her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading homes. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms. To sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams. And bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding aeroplanes and airing aerodromes. On bees that buzz in bonnets. And the kind that build the combs. Made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's, moors and crumbs. And diagrams to balk the brain of Mr Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated nooms. And make them right and right and right until the printer films. And linoman made looney go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books, I would. Large books on ants and antonooms. And palim-pests and palin-nooms and palid-palid-drooms. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many films. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. I'd publish massive tomes. Written in a massive style by blokes with massive domes. Science books and histories of Egypt's day and Rome's. Books of psychosurgery to mine the minds of moans. And solemn pseudo-psychic stuff to tell where topsy-romes when her poor clay is put away beneath the spreading ohms. Books about electrocuting little seeds with ohms. To sternly show them how to grow in sands and clays and loams. And bravely burst infinitives like angry agronomes. Books on breeding airplanes. And airing aerodromes. On bees that buzz in bonnets and the kind that build the combs. Made plain with pretty pictures done in crimson's, marves and chromes. And diagrams to balk the brain of Mr Sherlock Holmes. I'd set the scientists to work like super-heated gnomes. And make them right and right and right until the printer foams. And linoman made loony go to psychopathic homes. I'd publish books I would. Large books on ants and antinomes. And palimpsests and palinodes and pallid palindromes. But I wouldn't be a publisher if I got many poems. Would you? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.