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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:35:17 -0700 |
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diff --git a/27534-h/27534-h.htm b/27534-h/27534-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..345b799 --- /dev/null +++ b/27534-h/27534-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,2466 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8" /> + <title> + Cobwebs from a Library Corner, by John Kendrick Bangs + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[*/ + body {width:70%;margin:0 15%;font-family:serif;} + h1, h2, h3 {text-align:center;font-weight:normal;margin:5em 0 1em 0;} + + ul {list-style-type: none;} + + img {border:0;margin:auto;display:block;} + .illo {margin:3em 0;} + .illo p {text-align:center;text-indent:0em;font-size:.85em;line-height:1em;} + + .poem_title {font-style:italic;} + .first_word {font-variant:small-caps;} + .inspiration {margin:2em;font-size:.9em;text-align:justify;} + + .poem { + margin:0em 10% 1em 10%; + text-align: left; + } + + .poem .stanza { margin: 1em 0em; } + + .poem p { + margin: 0; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; + text-align: left; + line-height:1.3; + } + + .poem p.i2 { margin-left: 1em; } + .poem p.i4 { margin-left: 2em; } + .poem p.i6 { margin-left: 3em; } + .poem p.i8 { margin-left: 4em; } + .poem p.i10 { margin-left: 5em; } + .poem p.i12 { margin-left: 6em; } + .poem p.iright { text-align:right; margin-right:4em; } + + + #the-end {text-align:center;text-indent:0em;font-size:1.2em;margin:1em 0em;border-bottom:thin gray solid;padding-bottom:1em;} + #the-beginning {border-top:thin gray solid;padding-top:1em;} + + + /* Page Numbering */ + .pagenum { position: absolute; left: 2em; font-size: 10px; text-align: left; color: gray; background-color: inherit; font-weight: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; text-indent: 0em; } + a[title].pagenum:after { content: attr(title); } /* comment this instruction to hide page numbers */ + .disguise {color:window;} /* Used to make some page numbers invisible but still anchors. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Cobwebs from a Library Corner + +Author: John Kendrick Bangs + +Release Date: December 14, 2008 [EBook #27534] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK COBWEBS FROM A LIBRARY CORNER *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Tozier, Bill Tozier and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + +<p id="the-beginning"> </p> +<div id="cover" class="illo"> + <img src="images/cover.jpg" width="391" height="764" alt="Cover" /> +</div> + +<p id="prefrontis" class="page"><a class="pagenum disguise" id="pagei" title="i"> </a>These verses of Mr. Bangs’s have appeared + from time to time in the various + Harper Periodicals, and elsewhere.</p> + +<div id="frontis" class="illo"><a class="pagenum disguise" id="pageii" title="ii"> </a> + <img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="396" height="625" alt="Frontis" /> + <p class="caption">OUT IN THE COLD</p> +</div> + +<div id="title_page" class="page"><a class="pagenum disguise" id="pageiii" title="iii"> </a> + <h1>COBWEBS FROM A<br /> + LIBRARY CORNER</h1> + <p>By<br /> + <span id="author">John Kendrick Bangs</span></p> + <div id="device" class="illo"> + <img src="images/device.jpg" width="181" height="180" alt="Device" /> + </div> + <p id="pub_info"> + <span id="pub_city">NEW YORK AND LONDON</span><br /> + <span id="publisher">HARPER & BROTHERS</span> + </p> + <p id="pub_date">MDCCCXCIX</p> +</div> + +<div id="copyright_page" class="page"><a class="pagenum disguise" id="pageiv" title="iv"> </a> + <p id="copyright">Copyright, 1899, by <span class="pub">Harper & Brothers</span>.</p> + <p id="rights_statement">All rights reserved.</p> +</div> + +<div id="dedication" class="page"><a class="pagenum disguise" id="pagev" title="v"> </a> + <p>TO<br /> + SISTER ANNE</p> +</div> + +<!-- <a class="pagenum disguise" id="pagevi" title="vi"> </a>[Blank Page] --> + +<div id="contents" class="section"><a class="pagenum cheater" id="pagevii" title="vii"> </a> + <h2 class="section_title">CONTENTS</h2> + <p class="page_column">PAGE</p> + + <ol> + <li><a href="#section_1" class="toc_section">BOOKISH</a> + <ol> + <li><a href="#poem_01">A Pessimistic View</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page1">1</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_02">The Master’s Pen—A Confession</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page3">3</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_03">Bookworm Ballads (a Literary Feast)</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page5">5</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_04">Ideas for Sale</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page8">8</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_05">The Author’s Boomerang</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page11">11</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_06">To an Egotistical Biographer</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page12">12</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_07">No Copyright Needed</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page13">13</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_08">Ingredients of Greatness</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page14">14</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_09">A Common Favorite</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page15">15</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_10">Their Pens</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page17">17</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_11">An Unsolved Problem</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page18">18</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_12">The Bibliophile’s Threat</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page19">19</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_13">My Treasures</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page20">20</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_14">A Poet’s Fad</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page21">21</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_15">The Poet Undone</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page22">22</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_16">A Waning Muse</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page23">23</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_17">Modesty</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page24">24</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_18">My Lord the Book</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page25">25</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_19">The Bibliomiser</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page26">26</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_20">The “Collector”</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page27">27</a></li> + <li><a class="pagenum cheater" id="pageviii" title="viii"> </a><a href="#poem_21">A Reader</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page28">28</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_22">Fate!</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page29">29</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_23">A Pleasing Thought</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page30">30</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_24">Books <em lang="la" xml:lang="la" title="versus">vs.</em> “Books,” by a Bibliomaniac</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page31">31</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_25">A Confession</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page33">33</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_26">The Edition de Looks</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page35">35</a></li> + </ol> + </li> + + <li><a href="#section_2" class="toc_section">WISE AND OTHERWISE</a> + <ol> + <li><a href="#poem_27">Napolini’s Error</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page41">41</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_28">My Color</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page45">45</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_29">Contentment in Nature</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page47">47</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_30">The Heroic Gunner</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page49">49</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_31">The Pathetic Tale of the Caddy Boy</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page52">52</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_32">Garrulous Wisdom</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page56">56</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_33">The Perjury of a Rejected Lover</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page58">58</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_34">Maid of Culture</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page59">59</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_35">Not Perfect</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page60">60</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_36">A City Dweller’s Wish</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page61">61</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_37">Where are They?</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page62">62</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_38">Memories</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page64">64</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_39">A Sad State</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page65">65</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_40">Ad Astra per Otium.</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page66">66</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_41">Consolation</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page67">67</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_42">Satisfaction on Reading “Not One Dissatisfied,” by Walt Whitman</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page68">68</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_43">To a Withered Rose</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page70">70</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_44">The Worst of Enemies</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page71">71</a></li> + <li><a class="pagenum cheater" id="pageix" title="ix"> </a><a href="#poem_45">Jokes of the Night</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page72">72</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_46">An Autumnal Romance</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page75">75</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_47">The Country in July</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page76">76</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_48">May 30, 1893</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page78">78</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_49">The Curse of Wealth</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page80">80</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_50">The Rhyme of the Ancient Populist</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page83">83</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_51">One of the Nameless Great</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page86">86</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_52">In February Days</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page87">87</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_53">A Change of Ambition</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page89">89</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_54">Message from Mahatmas</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page91">91</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_55">The Gold-seekers</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page95">95</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_56">Ode to a Politician</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page98">98</a></li> + <li><a href="#poem_57">Some are Amateurs</a> <a class="toc_page" href="#page101">101</a></li> + </ol> + </li> + </ol> +</div> + +<!-- <a class="pagenum disguise" id="pagex" title="x"> </a>[Blank Page] --> + +<h2 id="section_1" class="section_title"><a class="pagenum disguise" id="pagexi" title="xi"> </a>BOOKISH</h2> + +<!-- <a class="pagenum disguise" id="pagexii" title="xii"> </a>[Blank Page] --> + +<h3 id="poem_01" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page1" title="1"> </a>A PESSIMISTIC VIEW</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">A little</span> bit of Thackeray,</p> + <p class="i2">A little bit of Scott,</p> + <p>A modicum of Dickens just</p> + <p class="i2">To tangle up the plot,</p> + <p>A paraphrase of Marryat,</p> + <p class="i2">Another from Dumas—</p> + <p>You ask me for a novel, sir,</p> + <p class="i2">And I say, there you are.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The pen is greater than the sword,</p> + <p class="i2">Of that there is no doubt.</p> + <p>The pen for me whene’er I wish</p> + <p class="i2">An enemy to rout.</p> + <p>A pen, a pad, and say a pint</p> + <p class="i2">Of ink with which to scrawl,</p> + <p>To put a foe to flight is all</p> + <p class="i2">That’s needed—truly all.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page2" title="2"> </a>But when it comes to making up</p> + <p class="i2">A novel in these days</p> + <p>You do not need a pen at all</p> + <p class="i2">To win the writer’s bays.</p> + <p>A pair of sharpened scissors and</p> + <p class="i2">A wealth of pure white page</p> + <p>Will do it if you have at hand</p> + <p class="i2">A pot of mucilage.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>So give to me the scissors keen,</p> + <p class="i2">And give to me the glue,</p> + <p>And I will fix a novel up</p> + <p class="i2">That’s sure to startle you.</p> + <p>The good ideas have all been worked,</p> + <p class="i2">But while we’ve gum and paste</p> + <p>There shall be books and books and books</p> + <p class="i2">To please the public taste.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_02" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page3" title="3"> </a>THE MASTER’S PEN—A CONFESSION</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">In</span> my collection famed of curios</p> + <p>I have, as every bookman knows,</p> + <p>A pen that Thackeray once used.</p> + <p class="i6">To be amused,</p> + <p>I thought I’d “take that pen in hand,”</p> + <p>And see what came of it—what grand</p> + <p>Inspired lines ’twould write,</p> + <p class="i6">One Sunday night.</p> + <p>I dipped it in the ink,</p> + <p>And tried to think,</p> + <p class="i6">“Just what shall I indite?”</p> + <p>And do you know, that pen went fairly mad;</p> + <p>A dreadful time with it I had.</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page4" title="4"> </a>It spluttered, spattered, scratched, and blotted so,</p> + <p>I had to give it up, you know.</p> + <p>It really wouldn’t work for me,</p> + <p>And so I put it down; but last night, after tea,</p> + <p>I took it up again,</p> + <p>And equally in vain.</p> + <p class="i6">The hours sped;</p> + <p class="i6">I went to bed,</p> + <p>And in my dreams the pen came up to me and said:</p> + <p>“Here is the list of Asses who have tried</p> + <p>To take up pens the master laid aside;</p> + <p>Look thou!” I looked, and lo!—perhaps you’ve guessed—</p> + <p>My name, like Abou Ben’s, led all the rest!</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_03" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page5" title="5"> </a>BOOKWORM BALLADS<br /> + <span class="poem_subtitle">A LITERARY FEAST</span></h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">My</span> Bookworm gave a dinner to a number of his set.</p> + <p>I was not there—I say it to my very great regret.</p> + <p>For they dined well, I fancy, if the menu that I saw</p> + <p>Was followed as implicitly as one obeys the law.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“’Twill open,” he observed to me, “with quatrains on the half.</p> + <p>They go down easy; then for soup”—it really made me laugh—</p> + <p>“The poems of old Johnny Gay”—his words were rather rough—</p> + <p>“They’ll do quite well, for, after all, soup’s thin and sloppy stuff.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page6" title="6"> </a>“For fish, old Izaak Walton; and to serve as an <em lang="la" xml:lang="la">entrée</em>,</p> + <p>I think some fixed-up morsel, say from James, or from Daudet;</p> + <p>The roast will be Charles Kingsley—there’s a deal of beef in him.</p> + <p>For sherbet, T. B. Aldrich is just suited to my whim.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“For game I’ll have Boccaccio—he’s quite the proper one;</p> + <p>He certainly is gamey, and a trifle underdone;</p> + <p>And for the salad, Addison, so fresh and crisp is he,</p> + <p>With just a touch of Pope to give a tang to him, you see.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“And then for cheese, Max Nordau, for I think you’ll find right there</p> + <p>Some things as strong and mushy as the best of Camembert;</p> + <p>And for dessert let Thackeray and O. Khayyám be brought,</p> + <p>The which completes a dinner of most wondrous richness fraught.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page7" title="7"> </a>“For olives and for almonds we can take the jokes of <cite>Punch</cite>—</p> + <p>They’re good enough for us, I think, to casually munch;</p> + <p>And through it all we’ll quaff the wines that flow forever clear</p> + <p>From Avon’s vineyards in the heart of Will of Warwickshire.”</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_04" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page8" title="8"> </a>IDEAS FOR SALE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">I’m</span> in literary culture, and I’ve opened up a shop,</p> + <p>Where I’d like ye, gents and ladies, if you’re passing by to stop.</p> + <p>Come and see my rich assortment of fine literary seed</p> + <p>That I’m selling to the writers of full many a modern screed.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I’ve bacilli for ten volumes for a dollar, in a bag—</p> + <p>Not a single germ among ’em that’s been ever known to drag.</p> + <p>Not a single germ among ’em, if you see they’re planted right,</p> + <p>But will grow into a novel that they’ll say is out of sight.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I have motifs by the thousand, motifs sad and motifs gay.</p> + <p>You can buy ’em by the dozen, or I’ll serve ’em every day:</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page9" title="9"> </a>I will serve ’em in the morning, as the milkman serves his wares;</p> + <p>I will serve ’em by the postman, or I’ll leave ’em on your stairs.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>When you get down to your table with your head a vacuum,</p> + <p>You can say unto your helpmeet, “Has that quart of ideas come</p> + <p>That we ordered served here daily from that plot-man down the street?”</p> + <p>And you’ll find that I’ve been early my engagement to complete.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Should you want a book of poems that will bring you into fame,</p> + <p>Let me send a sample packet that will guarantee the same,</p> + <p>Holding “Seeds of Thought from Byron, Herrick, Chaucer, Tennyson.”</p> + <p>Plant ’em deep, and keep ’em watered, and you’ll find the deed is done.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page10" title="10"> </a>I’ve a hundred comic packets that would make a Twain of Job;</p> + <p>I have “Seeds of Tales Narcotic; Tales of Surgeons and the Probe.”</p> + <p>I’ve a most superb assortment, on the very cheapest terms,</p> + <p>Done up carefully in tin-foil, of my A 1 “Trilby Germs.”</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>So perchance if you’re ambitious in a literary line,</p> + <p>Be as dull as e’er you can be, you will surely cut a shine,</p> + <p>If you’ll only take advantage of this opportunity,</p> + <p>When you’re passing by to stop in for a little chat with me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>You may ask me, in conclusion, why I do not seek myself</p> + <p>All the laurel and the glory of these seeds I sell for pelf.</p> + <p>I will tell you, though the confidence I can’t deny is rash,</p> + <p>I’m a trifle long on laurels, and a little short of cash.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_05" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page11" title="11"> </a>THE AUTHOR’S BOOMERANG</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">He</span> frowns with reason; he has always said,</p> + <p class="i2">“The public has no knowledge of true art;</p> + <p>The book of worth these days would not be read;</p> + <p class="i2">’Tis trash not truth that goes upon the mart.”</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And then was published his belovéd work—</p> + <p class="i2">Some twenty-six editions it has had—</p> + <p>And he his own conclusion cannot shirk:</p> + <p class="i2">With such success as this it must be bad!</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_06" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page12" title="12"> </a>TO AN EGOTISTICAL BIOGRAPHER</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">I’ve</span> read your story of your friend’s fine life,</p> + <p class="i2">But really, gentle sir, I fail to see,</p> + <p>Why you have named it “Blank, and Jane his wife,”</p> + <p class="i2">When you had better called it simply “Me.”</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_07" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page13" title="13"> </a>NO COPYRIGHT NEEDED</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">I’ve</span> penned a score of essays bright,</p> + <p class="i2">In Addison’s best style;</p> + <p>I’ve taken many a lofty flight,</p> + <p class="i2">The Muses to beguile.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Of novels I have written few—</p> + <p class="i2">I think no more than ten;</p> + <p>With history I’ve had to do,</p> + <p class="i2">Like several other men.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And still, to my intense regret,</p> + <p class="i2">Through all my woe and weal,</p> + <p>I’ve never penned a volume yet,</p> + <p class="i2">A foreigner would steal.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_08" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page14" title="14"> </a>INGREDIENTS OF GREATNESS</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">The</span> style of man I’d like to be,</p> + <p class="i2">If I could have my way,</p> + <p>Would be a sort of pot-pourri</p> + <p class="i2">Of Poe and Thackeray;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Of Horace, Edison, and Lamb;</p> + <p class="i2">Of Keats and Washington,</p> + <p>Gérôme and blest Omar Khayyám,</p> + <p class="i2">And R. L. Stevenson;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Of Kipling and the Bard of Thrums,</p> + <p class="i2">And Bonaparte the great—</p> + <p>If I were these, I’d snap my thumbs</p> + <p class="i2">Derisively at Fate.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_09" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page15" title="15"> </a>A COMMON FAVORITE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Charles Lamb</span> is good, and so is Thackeray,</p> + <p>And so’s Jane Austen in her pretty way;</p> + <p>Charles Dickens, too, has pleased me quite a lot,</p> + <p>As also have both Stevenson and Scott.</p> + <p>I like Dumas and Balzac, and I think</p> + <p>Lord Byron quite a dab at spreading ink;</p> + <p>But on the whole, at home, across the sea,</p> + <p>The author I like best is Mr. Me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A “first” of Elia filled my soul with joy.</p> + <p>A Meredith de luxe held no alloy.</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page16" title="16"> </a>And when I found <cite>Pendennis</cite> in the parts</p> + <p>A throb of gladness stirred my heart of hearts.</p> + <p>A richly pictured set of Avon’s bard</p> + <p>Upon my liking bounded pretty hard;</p> + <p>But none brought out that cloying sense of glee</p> + <p>That came from that first book by Mr. Me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And so I beg you join me in the toast</p> + <p>To him that I confess I love the most.</p> + <p>He does not always do his level best,</p> + <p>But no one lives who can survive that test.</p> + <p>His work is queer, and some folks call it bad,</p> + <p>And some aver ’tis but a passing fad;</p> + <p>But I don’t care, the fact remains that he</p> + <p>Has won my admiration—dear old Me.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_10" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page17" title="17"> </a>THEIR PENS</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">The</span> poet pens his odes and sonnets spruce</p> + <p>With quills plucked from the ordinary goose,</p> + <p>While critics write their sharp incisive lines</p> + <p>With quills snatched from the fretful porcupines.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_11" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page18" title="18"> </a>AN UNSOLVED PROBLEM</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">If</span> Bacon wrote those grand inspiring lines</p> + <p class="i2">At which alternately man weeps and laughs,</p> + <p>Who was it penned those chirographic vines</p> + <p class="i2">We know these times as Shakespeare’s autographs?</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_12" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page19" title="19"> </a>THE BIBLIOPHILE’S THREAT</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">If</span> some one does not speedily indite</p> + <p class="i2">A volume that is worthy of my shelf,</p> + <p>I’ll have to buy materials and write</p> + <p class="i2">A novel and some poetry myself.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_13" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page20" title="20"> </a>MY TREASURES</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">My</span> library o’erflows with treasures rare:</p> + <p class="i2">Of “Dickens’ firsts,” a full, unbroken set;</p> + <p>And in a little nooklet off the stair</p> + <p class="i2">The whole edition of my novelette.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_14" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page21" title="21"> </a>A POET’S FAD</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">He</span> writes bad verse on principle,</p> + <p class="i2">E’en though it does not sell.</p> + <p>He thinks the plan original—</p> + <p class="i2">So many folk write well.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_15" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page22" title="22"> </a>THE POET UNDONE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">He</span> was a poet born, but unkind Fate</p> + <p class="i2">Once doomed him for his verses to be paid,</p> + <p>Whereon he left the poet-born’s estate</p> + <p class="i2">And wrote like one who’d happened to be made.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_16" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page23" title="23"> </a>A WANING MUSE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p>“<span class="first_word">Why</span> art thou sad, Poeticus?” said I.</p> + <p class="i2">So blue was he I feared he would not speak.</p> + <p>“Alas! I’ve lost my grip,” was his reply—</p> + <p class="i2">“I’ve writ but forty poems, sir, this week.”</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_17" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page24" title="24"> </a>MODESTY</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p>“<span class="first_word">What</span> hundred books are best, think you?” I said,</p> + <p class="i2">Addressing one devoted to the pen.</p> + <p>He thought a moment, then he raised his head:</p> + <p class="i2">“I hardly know—I’ve written only ten.”</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_18" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page25" title="25"> </a>MY LORD THE BOOK</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">A book</span> is an aristocrat:</p> + <p class="i2">’Tis pampered—lives in state;</p> + <p>Stands on a shelf, with naught whereat</p> + <p class="i2">To worry—lovely fate!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Enjoys the best of company;</p> + <p class="i2">And often—ay, ’tis so—</p> + <p>Like much in aristocracy,</p> + <p class="i2">Its title makes it go.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_19" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page26" title="26"> </a>THE BIBLIOMISER</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">He</span> does not read at all, yet he doth hoard</p> + <p>Rich books. In exile on his shelves they’re stored;</p> + <p>And many a volume, sweet and good and true,</p> + <p>Fails in the work that it was made to do.</p> + <p>Why, e’en the dust they’ve caught since he began</p> + <p>Would quite suffice to make a decent man!</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_20" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page27" title="27"> </a>THE “COLLECTOR”</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">I got</span> a tome to-day, and I was glad to strike it,</p> + <p>Because no other man can ever get one like it.</p> + <p>’Tis poor, and badly print; its meaning’s Greek;</p> + <p>But what of that? ’Tis mine, and it’s unique.</p> + <p class="i2">So Bah! to others,</p> + <p class="i2">Men and brothers—</p> + <p class="i2">Bah! and likewise Pooh!</p> + <p class="i2">I’ve got the best of you.</p> + <p class="i2">Go sicken, die, and eke repine.</p> + <p class="i2">That book you wanted—Gad! that’s mine!</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_21" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page28" title="28"> </a>A READER</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Daudet</span> to him is e’er Dodett;</p> + <p class="i2">Dumas he calls Dumass;</p> + <p>But prithee do not you forget</p> + <p class="i2">He’s not at all an ass;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Because the books that he doth buy,</p> + <p class="i2">That on his shelf do stand,</p> + <p>Hold not one page his eagle eye</p> + <p class="i2">Hath not completely scanned.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And while this man’s orthoepy</p> + <p class="i2">May not be what it should,</p> + <p>He knows what books contain, and he</p> + <p class="i2">“Can quote ’em pretty good.”</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_22" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page29" title="29"> </a>FATE!</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">I feel</span> that I am quite as smart</p> + <p>As Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I’m also every bit as bright</p> + <p>As Walter Scott, the Scottish knight;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And in my own peculiar way</p> + <p>I’m just as good as Thackeray.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But, woe is me that it should be,</p> + <p>They got here years ahead of me,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And all the tales I would unfold</p> + <p>By them already have been told.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_23" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page30" title="30"> </a>A PLEASING THOUGHT</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">They</span> speak most truly who do say</p> + <p>We have no writing-folk to-day</p> + <p>Like those whose names, in days gone by,</p> + <p>Upon the scroll of fame stood high.</p> + <p>And when I think of Smollett’s tales,</p> + <p>Of waspish Pope’s ill-natured rails,</p> + <p>Of Fielding dull, of Sterne too free,</p> + <p>Of Swift’s uncurbed indecency,</p> + <p>Of Dr. Johnson’s bludgeon-wit,</p> + <p>I must confess I’m glad of it!</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_24" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page31" title="31"> </a>BOOKS vs. “BOOKS”<br /> + <span class="poem_subtitle">BY A BIBLIOMANIAC</span></h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">A volume’s</span> just received on vellum print.</p> + <p>The book is worth the vellum—no more in’t.</p> + <p>But, as I search my head for thoughts, I find</p> + <p>One fact embedded firmly in my mind.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>That’s this, in short: while it no doubt may be</p> + <p>Most pleasant for an author small to see</p> + <p>A fine edition of his work put out,</p> + <p>No man who’s sane can ever really doubt</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page32" title="32"> </a>That products of his brain and pen can live</p> + <p>Alone for that which they may haply give!</p> + <p>And though on vellum stiff the work appears,</p> + <p>It cannot live throughout the after-years,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Unless it has within its leaves some hint</p> + <p>Of something further than the style of print</p> + <p>And paper—give me Omar on mere waste,</p> + <p>I’ll choose it rather than some “bookish taste,”</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Expended on a flimsy, whimsey tale,</p> + <p>Put out to catch a whimsey, flimsy sale.</p> + <p>I’d choose my Omar print on grocer’s wraps</p> + <p>Before the vellum books of “bookish” chaps.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_25" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page33" title="33"> </a>A CONFESSION</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">My</span> epic verse, my pet production, which I deemed</p> + <p class="i2">Sufficient to advance me to the highest peak</p> + <p>Of difficult Parnassus, goal of which I’ve dreamed</p> + <p class="i2">For many a weary year, came back to me last week.</p> + <p>The Editor I cursed, that he should stand between</p> + <p class="i2">My dear ambition and my scarcely dearer self;</p> + <p>Whose unappreciation forced to blush unseen</p> + <p class="i2">My one dear book, to gather dust upon my shelf.</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page34" title="34"> </a>That night in sleep an Angel fair came to my side,</p> + <p class="i2">And in her hand she held a scroll; in lines of flame</p> + <p>The name of him I’d cursed was writ; and when I cried,</p> + <p class="i2">“What portent this?” the rare celestial dame</p> + <p class="iright">Replied:</p> + <p>“Read here, O Ingrate base, the name of him thou’st cursed.</p> + <p>The very man of all men who should be the first</p> + <p>Thy love and lasting gratitude to know, since he</p> + <p>Still leaves the path Parnassian open unto thee—</p> + <p>A path which thou with halting rhyme, most ill composed,</p> + <p>Against thyself hast sought to keep forever closed.</p> + <p><em>Read thou thy lines again!</em>”</p> + <p class="iright">Ah! bitter was the cup.</p> + <p>I read, withdrew the curse—and tore the epic up.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_26" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page35" title="35"> </a>THE EDITION DE LOOKS</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>How very close to truth these bookish men</p> + <p>Can be when in their catalogues they pen</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The words descriptive of the wares they hold</p> + <p>To tempt the book-man with his purse of gold!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For instance, they have Dryden—splendid set—</p> + <p>Which some poor wight would part with wealth to get.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>’Tis richly bound, its edges gilded—but—</p> + <p>Hard fate—as Dryden well deserves—<em>uncut!</em></p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page36" title="36"> </a>For who these days would think to buy the screed</p> + <p>Of dull old dusty Dryden just to read?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In faith if his editions had been kept</p> + <p>Amongst the rarities he’d ne’er have crept!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And then those pompous, overwhelming tomes</p> + <p>You find so oft in overwhelming homes,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>No substance on a Whatman surface placed,</p> + <p>In polished leather and in tooling cased,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The gilded edges dazzling to the eye</p> + <p>And flaunting all their charms so wantonly.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>These book-men, when they catalogue their books,</p> + <p>Call them in truth <em lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">édition de luxe</em>.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page37" title="37"> </a>That’s all they have, most of ’em, just plain shape,</p> + <p>With less pure wine than any unripe grape.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But tomes that travel on their “looks” indeed</p> + <p>Are only good for those who do not read;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And, like most people clad in garments grand,</p> + <p>Seem rather heavy for the average hand.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<!-- <a class="pagenum" id="page38" title="38"> </a>[Blank Page] --> + +<h2 id="section_2" class="section_title"><a class="pagenum disguise" id="page39" title="39"> </a>WISE AND OTHERWISE</h2> + +<!-- <a class="pagenum disguise" id="page40" title="40"> </a>[Blank Page] --> + +<h3 id="poem_27" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page41" title="41"> </a>NAPOLINI’S ERROR</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Pietro Napolini di Vendetta Pasquarelle</span></p> + <p>Deserted balmy Italy, the land that loved him well,</p> + <p>And sailed for soft America, of wealth the very fount,</p> + <p>To earn sufficient dollars there to make himself a count.</p> + <p>Alas for poor Pietro! he arrived in winter-time,</p> + <p>And marvelled at the poet who observed in tripping rhyme</p> + <p>How this New World was genial, and a sunny sort of clime.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>No chance had he for music that’s developed by a crank,</p> + <p>No chance had he at sculpture, nor a penny in the bank.</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page42" title="42"> </a>The pea-nut trade was languid, and for him too full of risk;</p> + <p>He thought the work on railways for his blood was rather brisk.</p> + <p>The sole profession left him to assuage his stomach’s woe,</p> + <p>It struck him in meandering the city to and fro,</p> + <p>Was surely that of shovelling away the rich man’s snow.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And then P. Napolini di Vendetta Pasquarelle</p> + <p>Sought out a city thoroughfare, the swellest of the swell.</p> + <p>He stole a shovel, and he found a broom he thought would do,</p> + <p>Then rang the massive front-door bell of Stuyvesant Depew.</p> + <p>“I wanta shov’ da snow,” he said, when there at last appeared</p> + <p>Fitzjohn Augustus Higgins, who in Birmingham was reared,</p> + <p>A man by all in low estate much hated and much feared.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page43" title="43"> </a>“Go wi,” said Fitz, with gesture bold. “Yer cahn’t do nothink ere,</p> + <p>Yer bloomin’, hugly furriner!” he added, with a sneer.</p> + <p>“Hi thinks as ’ow you dagoes is the cuss o’ this ’ere land,</p> + <p>With wuthy citizens like me ’most starved on every ’and.</p> + <p>Hi vows hif I’d me wi at all hi’d order hout a troop,</p> + <p>Hand send the bloomin’ lot o’ yer ’ead over ’eels in soup.</p> + <p>Git hout, yer nahsty grabber yer; hewacuate the stoop.”</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then when the snow had melted off, Fitzjohn Augustus went</p> + <p>And humbly asked his master for two dollars that he’d spent</p> + <p>In paying Napolini di Vendetta Pasquarelle;</p> + <p>While Nap went back to Italy, the land that loved him well,</p> + <p>Convinced that when he sailed that time his country to forsake,</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page44" title="44"> </a>He must have got aboard the ship when he was half awake,</p> + <p>And got to London, not New York, by some most odd mistake.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_28" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page45" title="45"> </a>MY COLOR</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">My</span> best-loved color? Well, I think I like</p> + <p class="i2">A soft and tender dewy green—for grass.</p> + <p>Sometimes a pink my fancy too will strike—</p> + <p class="i2">In lobster <em lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">purée</em> or a Sauterne glass.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Blue is a color, too, I greatly love.</p> + <p class="i2">It’s sort of satisfying to my eyes.</p> + <p>’Tis their own color; and I’m quite fond of</p> + <p class="i2">This hue also for soft Italian skies.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For blushes, give me red, nor hesitate</p> + <p class="i2">To pile it on; I like it good and strong</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page46" title="46"> </a>Upon the cheeks of her I call my Fate,</p> + <p class="i2">The loveliest of all the lovely throng.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>On golden-yellow oft my fancy dwells.</p> + <p class="i2">’Tis almost godlike, as it sparkles through</p> + <p>The effervescent fizz; and wondrous spells</p> + <p class="i2">It casts o’er me when coined in dollars, too.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Hence, friend, it is I cannot specify</p> + <p class="i2">What hues particular my joys enhance.</p> + <p>I like them all; their popularity</p> + <p class="i2">At special times depends on circumstance.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_29" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page47" title="47"> </a>CONTENTMENT IN NATURE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">I would</span> not change my joys for those</p> + <p class="i2">Of Emperors and Kings.</p> + <p>What has my gentle friend the rose</p> + <p>Told them, if aught, do you suppose—</p> + <p class="i2">The rose that tells me things?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>What secrets have they had with trees?</p> + <p class="i2">What romps with grassy spears?</p> + <p>What know they of the mysteries</p> + <p>Of butterflies and honey-bees,</p> + <p class="i2">Who whisper in my ears?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>What says the sunbeam unto them?</p> + <p class="i2">What tales have brooklets told?</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page48" title="48"> </a>Is there within their diadem</p> + <p>A single rival to the gem</p> + <p class="i2">The dewy daisies hold?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>What sympathy have they with birds</p> + <p class="i2">Whose songs are songs of mine?</p> + <p>Do they e’er hear, as though in words</p> + <p>’Twas lisped, the message of the herds</p> + <p class="i2">Of grazing, lowing kine?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Ah no! Give me no lofty throne,</p> + <p class="i2">But just what Nature yields.</p> + <p>Let me but wander on, alone</p> + <p>If need be, so that all my own</p> + <p class="i2">Are woods and dales and fields.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_30" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page49" title="49"> </a>THE HEROIC GUNNER</h3> + + <p class="inspiration">When the order was given to withdraw from battle + for breakfast, one of the gun-captains, a privileged + character, begged Commodore Dewey to let them keep + on fighting until “we’ve wiped ’em out.”—<cite>War Anecdote + in Daily Paper.</cite></p> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">At</span> the battle of Manila,</p> + <p class="i2">In the un-Pacific sea,</p> + <p>Stood a gunner with his mad up</p> + <p class="i2">Just as far as it could be—</p> + <p>Stood a gunner brave and ready</p> + <p class="i2">For the hated enemy.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Near the Isles of Philopena</p> + <p class="i2">Raged the battle all the morn,</p> + <p>And the plucky Spanish sailors</p> + <p class="i2">By the shot and shell were torn;</p> + <p>And the flag that floated o’er them</p> + <p class="i2">To oblivion was borne.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page50" title="50"> </a>Every cannon belched projectiles,</p> + <p class="i2">Every cannon breathed forth hell,</p> + <p>Every cannon mowed the foeman</p> + <p class="i2">From the deck into the swell,</p> + <p>When amid the din of battle</p> + <p class="i2">Rang the silvery breakfast-bell.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“Stop your shooting! Come to breakfast!”</p> + <p class="i2">Cried the gallant Commodore.</p> + <p>“After eating we will let them</p> + <p class="i2">Have a rousing old encore.</p> + <p>Stow your lanyards, O my Jackies;</p> + <p class="i2">Let the cannon cease to roar.”</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Then upspake the fighting gunner:</p> + <p class="i2">“Dewey, don’t, I beg of you.</p> + <p>What’s the use of drinking coffee</p> + <p class="i2">Till we’ve put this scrimmage through?</p> + <p>If there’s any one who’s hungry,</p> + <p class="i2">Won’t this Spanish omelet do?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“Farragut would not have done it</p> + <p class="i2">When through Mobile Bay he sped.</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page51" title="51"> </a>Why then, Dewey, should we breakfast</p> + <p class="i2">Till we’ve plunked ’em full of lead?</p> + <p>Let our motto be as his was—</p> + <p class="i2"><em>Damn the fishballs! Go ahead!</em>”</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_31" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page52" title="52"> </a>THE PATHETIC TALE OF THE CADDY BOY</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“<span class="first_word">Come</span> here,” said I, “oh caddy boy, and tell me how it haps</p> + <p>You cling so fast unto these links; not like the other chaps,</p> + <p>Who like to dally on the streets and play the game of craps?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“Is it that you enjoy the work of carrying a bag</p> + <p>While others speed the festive ball o’er valley, hill, and crag?</p> + <p>And do your spirits never seem to falter or to flag?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“I’ve watched you many a day, my lad, and puzzled o’er the fact</p> + <p>That you are so attentive to the game; your every act</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page53" title="53"> </a>Doth indicate perfection—there’s been nothing you have lacked.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“And I would know just why it is that you so perfect seem—</p> + <p>In all my golfing days you’ve been the very brightest gleam—</p> + <p>Or am I lying home in bed and are you just a dream?”</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“Oh, sir,” said he, “I caddy here because I love my pa;</p> + <p>I cling unto these gladsome links because I love my ma;</p> + <p>In short, I love my parents, sir, and these my reasons are:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“’Twas but a year ago, good sir, when first this ancient sport</p> + <p>Came in the portals of our home—home of the sweetest sort;</p> + <p>When golf came through the window, sir, why home went through the port.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page54" title="54"> </a>“My father first he took it up, and many a weary night</p> + <p>My mother with us children waited up by candle-light,</p> + <p>In hopes that he’d return and free us from our lonely plight.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“Then mother she went after him—alas! that it should be—</p> + <p>And shortly learned the game herself—she plays it famously—</p> + <p>Which left us children orphans, I and all my brothers three.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“They play it here, they play it there, they play it everywhere;</p> + <p>No matter what the weather, be it wet or be it fair,</p> + <p>And for the cares of golf they’ve dropped their every other care.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“And so it is that we poor lads are forced to leave our home,</p> + <p>And join the ranks of caddy boys who o’er the fields do roam</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page55" title="55"> </a>In search of little golf-balls in the sunlight and the gloam;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“For some day we are hoping that our eyes again will see</p> + <p>Our most beloved parents on some putting-green or tee;</p> + <p>A sight to gladden all our hearts if it should ever be.”</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And lo—I looked upon that boy—his face was sweet and sad,</p> + <p>And to my heart there came a twinge, for in that little lad</p> + <p>I recognized my eldest son—<em>I</em> was that wicked dad!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And now together we are out on links at home and far.</p> + <p>He and his three small brothers with their shamed, repentant pa,</p> + <p>A-looking here and looking there to find their dear mamma.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_32" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page56" title="56"> </a>GARRULOUS WISDOM</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">I know</span> a wondrous man—my neighbor he;</p> + <p class="i2">He’s ripe in years, and great in understanding.</p> + <p>He’s versed in art, and in philosophy</p> + <p class="i2">He shows a mind that’s verily commanding.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>He’ll stand before a painting, and without</p> + <p class="i2">A single instant’s thought, or hesitation,</p> + <p>He’ll tell the painter’s name, nor any doubt</p> + <p class="i2">Is there he gives the proper information.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page57" title="57"> </a>The rocks, the hills and valleys, hold from him</p> + <p class="i2">No secret that is past a man’s revealing.</p> + <p>He knows why some are stout and others slim;</p> + <p class="i2">He comprehends all kinds of human feeling.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The records of the stars he knows, and each</p> + <p class="i2">Romance that round about the heavens lingers.</p> + <p>At dinner-time he oft delights to preach</p> + <p class="i2">On which was made the first, or forks or fingers.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Indeed, all things he knows, or high or low—</p> + <p class="i2">The things that fly on wing, or go a-walking—</p> + <p>Except one thing he never seems to know,</p> + <p class="i2">And that’s when he should stop his endless talking.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_33" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page58" title="58"> </a>THE PERJURY OF A REJECTED LOVER</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">When</span> I was twenty-one, I swore,</p> + <p class="i2">If I should ever wed,</p> + <p>The maiden that I should adore</p> + <p class="i2">Should have a classic head;</p> + <p>Should have a form quite Junoesque;</p> + <p class="i2">A manner full of grace;</p> + <p>A wealth of hirsute picturesque</p> + <p class="i2">Above a piquant face.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But I, alas! am perjured, for</p> + <p class="i2">I’ve wed a dumpy lass</p> + <p>I much despised in days of yore,</p> + <p class="i2">Of quite the plainest class,</p> + <p>Because each maiden of my dream,</p> + <p class="i2">Whose favor I did seek,</p> + <p>Was so opposed unto my scheme</p> + <p class="i2">I married Jane in pique.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_34" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page59" title="59"> </a>MAID OF CULTURE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Maid</span> of culture, ere we part,</p> + <p>Since we’ve talked of letters, art,</p> + <p>Science, faith, and hypnotism,</p> + <p>And ’most every other ism,</p> + <p>When you wrote, a while ago,</p> + <p><span title="Zóê mou, sas agapó,">Ζώη μοῦ, σὰς ἀγαπώ,</span></p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Let me tell you this, my dear:</p> + <p>Though your lettering was clear,</p> + <p>Though the ancient sages Greek</p> + <p>Would be glad to hear you speak,</p> + <p>They would be replete with woe</p> + <p>At your <span title="mou, sas agapó">μοῦ, σὰς ἀγαπώ</span>.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>For, dear maiden most astute,</p> + <p>You have placed the mark acute</p> + <p>O’er omega. Take your specs.</p> + <p>See? It should be circumflex.</p> + <p>Still I love you, even though</p> + <p>You have written <span title="agapó">ἀγαπώ</span>.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_35" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page60" title="60"> </a>NOT PERFECT</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Her</span> eyes are blue—a lovely hue</p> + <p class="i2">For eyes; her cheeks are pink,</p> + <p>And for the cheek, ’twixt me and you,</p> + <p class="i2">That color’s right, I think.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Her fingers taper prettily,</p> + <p class="i2">Her teeth are white as pearls—</p> + <p>Her hands seem softer far to me</p> + <p class="i2">Than any other girl’s.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Her figure’s trim—it is petite—</p> + <p class="i2">I like them just that way,</p> + <p>And truly, maiden half so sweet</p> + <p class="i2">You’d not find every day.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And yet, alas! she’s not my choice,</p> + <p class="i2">This creature of my rhyme—</p> + <p>Because her soft and rich-toned voice</p> + <p class="i2">Is going all the time.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_36" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page61" title="61"> </a>A CITY DWELLER’S WISH</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">I love</span> the leaf of the old oak-tree,</p> + <p class="i2">I love the gum of the spruce,</p> + <p>I love the bark of the hickory,</p> + <p class="i2">And I love the maple’s juice.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>On the walnut’s grain I fondly dote,</p> + <p class="i2">On the cherry’s fruit I’d dine,</p> + <p>And I love to lie in a narrow boat,</p> + <p class="i2">And scent the odor of pine.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Ah, me! how I wish some power grand</p> + <p class="i2">Would invent some single tree</p> + <p>With all these points well developed, and</p> + <p class="i2">Would send that tree to me!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I’d plant it deep in the jardinière</p> + <p class="i2">That stands in this flat of mine;</p> + <p>I’d give it the sweetest, tenderest care,</p> + <p class="i2">And water its roots with wine.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_37" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page62" title="62"> </a>WHERE ARE THEY?</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">What</span> has become of the cast-off coats</p> + <p class="i2">That covered Will Shakespeare’s back?</p> + <p>What has become of the old row-boats</p> + <p class="i2">Of Kidd and his pirate pack?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Where are the scarfs that Lord Byron wore?</p> + <p class="i2">Where are poor Shelley’s cuffs?</p> + <p>What has become of that wondrous store</p> + <p class="i2">Of Queen Elizabeth’s ruffs?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Where are the slippers of Ferdinand?</p> + <p class="i2">Where are Marc Antony’s clothes?</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page63" title="63"> </a>Where are the gloves from Antoinette’s hand?</p> + <p class="i2">Where Oliver Goldsmith’s hose?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I do not search for the ships of Tyre—</p> + <p class="i2">The grave of Whittington’s cat</p> + <p>Would sooner set my spirit on fire—</p> + <p class="i2">Or even Beau Brummel’s hat.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And when I reflect that there are spots</p> + <p class="i2">In the world that I can’t find,</p> + <p>Where lie these same identical lots,</p> + <p class="i2">And many of this same kind,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I’m tempted to give a store of gold</p> + <p class="i2">To him that will bring to me</p> + <p>A glass, Earth’s mysteries to unfold,</p> + <p class="i2">And show me where these things be.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_38" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page64" title="64"> </a>MEMORIES</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">Yon</span> maiden once a jester did adore,</p> + <p class="i2">Who early died and in the church-yard sleeps.</p> + <p>Once in a while she reads his best jokes o’er</p> + <p class="i2">And sits her down and madly, sorely weeps.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_39" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page65" title="65"> </a>A SAD STATE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">I know</span> a man in Real Estate,</p> + <p class="i2">Whose pride of self’s sublime.</p> + <p>He’d like to be a poet great</p> + <p class="i2">But “can’t afford the time.”</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_40" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page66" title="66"> </a>AD ASTRA PER OTIUM</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">As</span> I read over old John Dryden’s verse,</p> + <p class="i2">The rhymes of men like William Blake, and Gay,</p> + <p>The stuff that helped fill Edmund Waller’s purse,</p> + <p class="i2">And that which placed on Marvell’s brow the bay,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>It doth appear to me that in those times</p> + <p class="i2">The Muses quaffed not sparkling wine, but grog,</p> + <p>And that to grow immortal through one’s rhymes</p> + <p class="i2">Was ’bout as hard as falling off a log.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_41" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page67" title="67"> </a>CONSOLATION</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Shakespeare</span> was not accounted great</p> + <p>When good Queen Bess ruled England’s state,</p> + <p>So why should I to-day repine</p> + <p>Because the laurel is not mine?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Perhaps in twenty-ninety-three</p> + <p>Folks will begin to talk of me,</p> + <p>And somewhere statues may be built</p> + <p>Of me, in bronze, perhaps in gilt,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And sages full of quips and quirks</p> + <p>Will wonder if I wrote my works.</p> + <p>So why should I repine to-day</p> + <p>Because my brow wears not the bay?</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_42" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page68" title="68"> </a>SATISFACTION<br /> + <span class="poem_subtitle">ON READING “NOT ONE DISSATISFIED,” + BY WALT WHITMAN</span></h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">God</span> spare the day when I am satisfied!</p> + <p>Enough is truly likened to a feast that leaves man satiate.</p> + <p>The sluggishness of fulness comes apace; the dulness of a mind that knows all things.</p> + <p>The lack of every sweet desire; no new sensation for the soul!</p> + <p>To want no more?</p> + <p>What vile estate is that?</p> + <p>What holds the morrow for the soul that’s satisfied?</p> + <p>What holds the future for the mind content?</p> + <p>Is aspiration worthless?</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page69" title="69"> </a>Is much-abused ambition then so vile?</p> + <p>What is the essence of the joy of living?</p> + <p>Must yesterday, to-morrow, and to-day all be the same,</p> + <p>With nothing to be hoped for?</p> + <p>Is not a soul athirst a joyous thing?</p> + <p>Where lies content to him whose eye doth rest on higher things?</p> + <p>What satiation can compare to hope?</p> + <p>Yet who among the satisfied hath need of hope?</p> + <p>What can he hope for if he’s satisfied?</p> + <p>’Tis but conceit, and nothing more, to prate of satisfaction!</p> + <p>God spare the day when I am satisfied!</p> + <p>I do not want the earth,</p> + <p>Yet nothing less will leave me quite content;</p> + <p>And once ’tis mine,</p> + <p>I’m very sure you’ll find me roaming off</p> + <p>After the universe!</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_43" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page70" title="70"> </a>TO A WITHERED ROSE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Thy</span> span of life was all too short—</p> + <p class="i2">A week or two at best—</p> + <p>From budding-time, through blossoming,</p> + <p class="i2">To withering and rest.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Yet compensation hast thou—aye!—</p> + <p class="i2">For all thy little woes;</p> + <p>For was it not thy happy lot</p> + <p class="i2">To live and die a rose?</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_44" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page71" title="71"> </a>THE WORST OF ENEMIES</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">I do</span> not fear an enemy</p> + <p>Who all his days hath hated me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I do not bother o’er a foe</p> + <p>Whose name and face I do not know.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>I mind me not the small attack</p> + <p>Of him who bites behind my back:</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>But Heaven help me to the end</p> + <p>’Gainst that one who was once my friend.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_45" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page72" title="72"> </a>JOKES OF THE NIGHT</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Blessed</span> jokes of my dreams! Your praises I’d sing.</p> + <p>No mirth can compare to the mirth that you bring.</p> + <p>I’ve read London <cite>Punch</cite> from beginning to end,</p> + <p>On all comic papers much money I spend,</p> + <p>But naught that is in them can ever seem bright</p> + <p>Beside the rich jokes that I dream of at night.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>How I laugh at those jests of my brain when at rest,</p> + <p>The gladdest and merriest, sweetest and best!</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page73" title="73"> </a>And how, when I wake in the morning and try</p> + <p>To call them to mind, oh how bashful, how shy</p> + <p>They seem, how they scatter and hide out of sight—</p> + <p>Those jokes of my dreamings, those jests of the night!</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Take the one that came to me to-day just at dawn:</p> + <p>The Cable-Car turns and remarks to the Prawn,</p> + <p>“The Crowbar is seasick; but then what of that,</p> + <p>As long as the Camel won’t wear a silk hat?”</p> + <p>I laughed—why, I laughed till my wife had a fright</p> + <p>For fear I’d go wild from that joke of the night.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And they’re all much like that one—elusive enough,</p> + <p>Yet full of facetious, hilarious stuff—</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page74" title="74"> </a>Stuff past comprehension, stuff no man dares tell;</p> + <p>For nocturnal jests, e’en told ever so well—</p> + <p>’Tis odd it should be so—are not often bright,</p> + <p>Except to the dreamer who dreams them at night.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_46" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page75" title="75"> </a>AN AUTUMNAL ROMANCE</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">A leaf</span> fell in love with the soft green lawn,</p> + <p class="i2">He deemed her the sweetest and best,</p> + <p>And then on a dreary November dawn</p> + <p class="i2">He withered and died on her breast.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_47" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page76" title="76"> </a>THE COUNTRY IN JULY</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">Where</span> glistening in the softness of the night</p> + <p>The vagrant will-o’-wisps do greet the sight;</p> + <p>Where fragrance baffling permeates the breeze</p> + <p>That gently flouts the grasses and the trees;</p> + <p>Where every flying thing doth seem to be</p> + <p>Instinct with sweetly sensuous melody;</p> + <p>Where hills and dales assume their warmest phase,</p> + <p>With here and there a scarf of opal haze</p> + <p>To soften their luxuriant attire;</p> + <p>Where one can almost hear the elfin choir</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page77" title="77"> </a>Across the meadow-land, down in the wood,</p> + <p>In songs of gladness—there are all things good.</p> + <p>Ah! ye who seek the spot where joys abide,</p> + <p>Awake! Awake! Seek out the country-side,</p> + <p>And through the blue-gray July haze see life</p> + <p>All free from care, from sorrow, and from strife.</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_48" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page78" title="78"> </a>MAY 30, 1893</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">It</span> seemed to be but chance, yet who shall say</p> + <p>That ’twas not part of Nature’s own sweet way,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>That on the field where once the cannon’s breath</p> + <p>Lay many a hero cold and stark in death,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Some little children, in the after-years,</p> + <p>Had come to play among the grassy spears,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And, all unheeding, when their romp was done,</p> + <p>Had left a wreath of wild flowers over one</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page79" title="79"> </a>Who fought to save his country, and whose lot</p> + <p>It was to die unknown and rest forgot?</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_49" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page80" title="80"> </a>THE CURSE OF WEALTH</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“<span class="first_word">What</span> shall I put my dollars in?” he asked, in wild dismay.</p> + <p class="i2">“I’ve fifty thousand of ’em, and I’d like to keep ’em too.</p> + <p>I’d like to put them by to serve some future rainy day,</p> + <p class="i2">But in these times of queer finance what can a fellow do?</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“A railway bond is picturesque, and the supply is great,</p> + <p class="i2">But strangely like a novel that upon occasion drags,</p> + <p>Of which the critics of the time in hackneyed phrases state,</p> + <p class="i2">‘The work has certain value, but the int’rest often flags!’</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page81" title="81"> </a>“The same is true of railway shares, ’tis safer to invest</p> + <p class="i2">In ploughshares, so it seems to me, in this unhappy time.</p> + <p>Some think great wealth a blessing, but it cannot stand the test;</p> + <p class="i2">He’s happier by far than I who’s but a single dime.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“He does not lie awake at night and fret and fume, to think</p> + <p class="i2">Of bank officials on a spree with what he’s toiled to get.</p> + <p>He is not driven by his woe quite to the verge of drink</p> + <p class="i2">By wondering if his balance in the bank remains there yet.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“He does not pick the paper up in terror every night</p> + <p class="i2">To see if V.B.G. is up, or P.D.Q. is down;</p> + <p>It does not fill his anxious soul with nerve-destroying fright</p> + <p class="i2">To hear the Wall Street rumors that are flying ’bout the town.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page82" title="82"> </a>“Ah, better had I ta’en that cash that I have skimped to save,</p> + <p class="i2">And spent it on my living and my pleasures day by day!</p> + <p>I would not now be goaded nigh unto my waiting grave,</p> + <p class="i2">By wondering how the deuce to keep those dollars mine for aye.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>“I’d not be bankrupt in my nerves and prematurely old,</p> + <p class="i2">These golden shackles must be burst; I must again be free.</p> + <p>What Ho without! My ducats—to the winds with all my gold,</p> + <p class="i2">That I may once again enjoy the rest of poverty.”</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_50" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page83" title="83"> </a>THE RHYME OF THE ANCIENT POPULIST</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">It</span> was an ancient populist,</p> + <p class="i2">His beard was long and gray,</p> + <p>And punctuated by his fist,</p> + <p class="i2">He had his little say:</p> + <p>“This is the age of gold,” he said,</p> + <p>“’Tis gold for butter, gold for bread,</p> + <p>Gold for bonds and gold for fun;</p> + <p>Gold for all things ’neath the sun.”</p> + <p class="i6">Then with a smile</p> + <p class="i8">He shook his head.</p> + <p class="i6">“Just wait awhile,”</p> + <p class="i8">He slyly said.</p> + <p>“When we get in and run the State</p> + <p>We’ll tackle gold, we’ll legislate.</p> + <p class="i6">We’ll pass an act</p> + <p class="i6">And make a fact</p> + <p>By which these gold-bugs will be whacked</p> + <p class="i6"><a class="pagenum" id="page84" title="84"> </a>Till they’re as cold</p> + <p class="i6">As is their gold.</p> + <p>We’re going to make a statute law by which ’twill be decreed</p> + <p>That standards are abolished, for a standard favors greed.</p> + <p>This is the country of the free, and free this land shall be</p> + <p>As soon as we the ‘people’ have our opportunity,</p> + <p>And he who has to pay a bill</p> + <p>Can pay in whate’er suits his will.</p> + <p>The tailor? Let him take his coats</p> + <p class="i6">And pay his notes;</p> + <p class="i6">Or if perchance</p> + <p class="i6">He’s long on pants,</p> + <p class="i6">Let trousers be</p> + <p class="i6">His <em>£. s. d.</em></p> + <p>The baker! Let his landlord take</p> + <p class="i6">His rent in cake,</p> + <p>Or anything the man can bake.</p> + <p>And if a plumber wants a crumb,</p> + <p>He may unto the baker come</p> + <p class="i10">And plumb.</p> + <p>A joker needing hats or cloaks</p> + <p>Can go and pay for them with jokes,</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page85" title="85"> </a>And so on: what a fellow’s got</p> + <p>Shall pay for things that he has not.</p> + <p>If beggars’ rags were cash, you’d see</p> + <p>No longer any beggary;</p> + <p>In short, there’d be no poverty.”</p> + <p>“A splendid scheme,” quoth I; “but stay!</p> + <p>What of the nation’s credit, pray?”</p> + <p>“Ha-ha! ho-ho!” he loudly roared.</p> + <p>“We’ll leave that problem to the Lord.</p> + <p>And if He fails to keep us straight</p> + <p>Once more we’ll have to legislate,</p> + <p class="i6">And so create,</p> + <p class="i6">Confounding greed,</p> + <p>As much of credit as we need.”</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_51" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page86" title="86"> </a>ONE OF THE NAMELESS GREAT</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">I knew</span> a man who died in days of yore,</p> + <p class="i2">To whom no monument is like to rise;</p> + <p>And yet there never lived a mortal more</p> + <p class="i2">Deserving of a shaft to pierce the skies.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>His chiefest wish strong friendships was to make;</p> + <p class="i2">He cared but little for this poor world’s pelf;</p> + <p>He shared his joys with every one who’d take,</p> + <p class="i2">And kept his sorrows strictly to himself.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_52" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page87" title="87"> </a>IN FEBRUARY DAYS</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Fair</span> Nature, like the mother of a wayward child</p> + <p class="i2">Who needs must chide the offspring of her heart,</p> + <p>Disguiseth for a season all the sweet and mild</p> + <p class="i2">Maternal softness for an austere part.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>And ’neath her frown the errant earth in winter seems</p> + <p class="i2">Prostrate to lie, and petulant of mood;</p> + <p>Restrained in icy fetters all the babbling streams,</p> + <p class="i2">Like naughty babes who’re learning to be good.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page88" title="88"> </a>Then, in this second month, most motherlike again,</p> + <p class="i2">The frown assumed gives now and then a place</p> + <p>To soft indulgent glances, lessening the pain,</p> + <p class="i2">And hints of spring and pardon light her face.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_53" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page89" title="89"> </a>A CHANGE OF AMBITION</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Horatius</span> at the bridge, and he</p> + <p>Who fought at old Thermopylæ;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Great Samson and his potent bone</p> + <p>By which the Philistines were slone;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Small David with his wondrous aim</p> + <p>That did for him of giant frame;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>J. Cæsar in his Gallic scraps</p> + <p>That made him lord of other chaps;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Sweet William, called the Conqueror,</p> + <p>Who made the Briton sick of war;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page90" title="90"> </a>King Hal the Fifth, who nobly fought</p> + <p>And thrashed the foe at Agincourt;</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Old Bonaparte, and Washington,</p> + <p>And Frederick, and Wellington,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Decatur, Nelson, Fighting Joe,</p> + <p>And Farragut, and Grant, and, oh,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>A thousand other heroes I</p> + <p>Have wished I were in days gone by—</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Can take their laurels from my door,</p> + <p>For I don’t want ’em any more.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The truth will out; it can’t be hid;</p> + <p>The doughty deed that Dewey did,</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>In that far distant Spanish sea,</p> + <p>Is really good enough for me.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>The grammar’s bad, but, O my son,</p> + <p>I wish I’d did what Dewey done!</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_54" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page91" title="91"> </a>MESSAGE FROM MAHATMAS</h3> + + <p class="inspiration"><span class="first_word">Onset Bay, Massachusetts</span>, <em>May 24, 18—.</em>—Theosophists + and others at Onset Bay Camp Grounds have + been greatly excited of late by a message which has + been received from the Mahatmas, Koot Hoomi, and + his partner, who are summering in the desert of Gobi. + The message is of considerable length, and contains + much that is purely personal.—<cite>Daily Newspaper</cite>.</p> + + <div class="poem"> + <div class="stanza"> + <p><span class="first_word">Sound</span> the timbrel, beat the drum!</p> + <p>Word from the Mahatma’s come.</p> + <p>Straight from Hoomi Koot & Co.</p> + <p>Comes the note to us below,</p> + <p>Full of joy and gossiping.</p> + <p>Hoomi Koot is summering</p> + <p>In the desert waste of Gobi,</p> + <p>In a cottage of adobe.</p> + <p>All the little Koots are well.</p> + <p>Tommy Koot has learned to spell.</p> + <p>Mrs. Koot is busy on</p> + <p>Papers on “The Great Anon,”</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page92" title="92"> </a>Which by special cable soon,</p> + <p>From her workshop in the moon,</p> + <p>Will be sent to us below</p> + <p>By grand Hoomi Koot & Co.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>We are told that Maggie Koot</p> + <p>Looks well in her golfing suit;</p> + <p>And her brand-new Astral Bike</p> + <p>Is the best they’ve seen this cike—</p> + <p>Cike is slang for cycle, so</p> + <p>I have learned from Koot & Co.</p> + <p>Soon she’s going to take a run</p> + <p>Out from Gobi to the sun,</p> + <p>After which she thinks to race</p> + <p>For the Championship of Space,</p> + <p>And a trophy given by</p> + <p>The Grand High Pasupati.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Baby Koot has learned to walk,</p> + <p>And likewise, ’tis said, to talk;</p> + <p>But, to Mrs. Koot’s dismay,</p> + <p>Seems to have a funny way:</p> + <p>Full of questions, “Why and How,”</p> + <p>All about the sacred cow.</p> + <p>Questions of a flippant ilk,</p> + <p>Like “Is Buddha made of milk?”</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page93" title="93"> </a>Questions void of answers spite</p> + <p>Of his parents’ second sight.</p> + <p>What to do with Baby Koot</p> + <p>Worries all the whole cahoot.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Finally the message ends</p> + <p>With best love to all our friends.</p> + <p>Give our enemies a twist.</p> + <p>Let each true theoso-fist</p> + <p>Strike a thunder-hitting blow</p> + <p>For the firm of Koot & Co.;</p> + <p>Strike till black is every eye</p> + <p>Doubting our theosophy.</p> + <p>And impress on every tribe</p> + <p><em>Now’s the season to subscribe.</em></p> + <p>Guard against the coming storm;</p> + <p>Keep our astral bodies warm.</p> + <p>Give us bonnets for the head;</p> + <p>Keep our spirit stomachs fed.</p> + <p>Let your glad remittance go</p> + <p>Out to Hoomi Koot & Co.,</p> + <p>Through their Agents on the earth,</p> + <p>Men and women full of worth;</p> + <p>And when next a message comes</p> + <p>From the Koots down to their chums,</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page94" title="94"> </a>Those who’ve paid their money down</p> + <p>Will receive a harp and crown.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>Step up lively! now’s the time</p> + <p>For your nickel and your dime,</p> + <p>To provide for winter suits</p> + <p>For the grand Mahatma Koots.</p> + <p>Furthermore, be not too brash,</p> + <p>Send it up in solid cash.</p> + <p>Astral money, it may be,</p> + <p>Circulates in theory;</p> + <p>But ’tis best to give us cold,</p> + <p>Bilious, drossy, filthy gold.</p> + </div> + + <div class="stanza"> + <p>All our blessings to you go.</p> + <p>Yours, for health,</p> + <p class="i12">H. Koots & Co.</p> + </div> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_55" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page95" title="95"> </a>THE GOLD-SEEKERS</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p class="i8"><span class="first_word">Gold</span>, gold, gold!</p> + <p>What care we for hunger and cold?</p> + <p>What care we for the moil and strife,</p> + <p>Or the thousands of foes to health and life,</p> + <p>When there’s gold for the mighty, and gold for the meek,</p> + <p>And gold for whoever shall dare to seek?</p> + <p class="i4">Untold</p> + <p class="i4">Is the gold;</p> + <p>And it lies in the reach of the man that’s bold:</p> + <p>In the hands of the man who dares to face</p> + <p>The death in the blast, that blows apace;</p> + <p>That withers the leaves on the forest tree;</p> + <p>That fetters with ice all the northern sea;</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page96" title="96"> </a>That chills all the green on the fair earth’s breast,</p> + <p>And as certainly kills as the un-stayed pest.</p> + <p>It lies in the hands of the man who’d sell</p> + <p>His hold on his life for an ice-bound hell.</p> + <p>What care we for the fevered brain</p> + <p>That’s filled with ravings and thoughts insane,</p> + <p class="i4">So long as we hold</p> + <p class="i4">In our hands the gold?—</p> + <p>The glistening, glittering, ghastly gold</p> + <p>That comes at the end of the hunger and cold;</p> + <p>That comes at the end of the awful thirst;</p> + <p>That comes through the pain and torture accurst</p> + <p>Of limbs that are racked and minds o’erthrown,</p> + <p>The gold lies there and is all our own,</p> + <p class="i4"><a class="pagenum" id="page97" title="97"> </a>Be we mighty or meek,</p> + <p class="i4">If we do but seek.</p> + <p>For the hunger is sweet and the cold is fair</p> + <p>To the man whose riches are past compare;</p> + <p>And the o’erthrown mind is as good as sane,</p> + <p>And a joy to the limbs is the racking pain,</p> + <p class="i4">If the gold is there.</p> + <p>And they say, if you fail, in your dying day</p> + <p>All the tears, all the troubles, are wiped away</p> + <p>By the fever-thought of your shattered mind</p> + <p>That a cruel world has at last grown kind;</p> + <p>That your hands o’errun with the clinking gold,</p> + <p>With nuggets of weight and of worth untold,</p> + <p class="i4">And your vacant eyes</p> + <p>Gloat o’er the riches of Paradise!</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_56" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page98" title="98"> </a>ODE TO A POLITICIAN</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">All</span> hail to thee, O son of Æolus!</p> + <p>All hail to thee, most high Borean lord!</p> + <p>The lineal descendant of the Winds art thou.</p> + <p>Child of the Cyclone,</p> + <p>Cousin to the Hurricane,</p> + <p>Tornado’s twin,</p> + <p class="i8">All hail!</p> + <p>The zephyrs of the balmy south</p> + <p class="i8">Do greet thee;</p> + <p>The eastern winds, great Boston’s pride,</p> + <p>In manner osculate caress thy massive cheek;</p> + <p class="i8">Freeze onto thee,</p> + <p>And at thy word throw off congealment</p> + <p>And take on a soft caloric mood;</p> + <p>And from afar,</p> + <p>From Afric’s strand,</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page99" title="99"> </a>Siroccan greetings come to thee!</p> + <p>The monsoon and simoom,</p> + <p>In the soft empurpled Orient,</p> + <p>At mention of thy name</p> + <p>Doff all the hats of Heathendom!</p> + <p>And all combined in one vast aggregation,</p> + <p>Cry out hail, hail, thrice hail to thee,</p> + <p>Who after years, and centuries, and cycles e’en,</p> + <p>Hast made the winds incarnate!</p> + <p class="i8">To thee</p> + <p class="i8">The visible expression in the flesh,</p> + <p class="i8">Material and tangible,</p> + <p>Of all that goes to make the element</p> + <p>That rages, blusters, blasts, and blows!</p> + <p>And if the poet’s mind speaks true,</p> + <p>If he can penetrate their purposes at all,</p> + <p>It is not far from their intent</p> + <p><a class="pagenum" id="page100" title="100"> </a>To lift thee on their broad November wings</p> + <p class="i8">So high</p> + <p>That none but gods can ever hope</p> + <p>Again to gaze upon thy face!</p> + </div> + +<h3 id="poem_57" class="poem_title"><a class="pagenum" id="page101" title="101"> </a>SOME ARE AMATEURS</h3> + + <div class="poem"> + <p><span class="first_word">Shakespeare</span> was partly wrong—the world’s a stage,</p> + <p class="i2">This is admitted by the bard’s detractors.</p> + <p>Had William seen some Hamlets of this age</p> + <p class="i2">He’d not have called <em>all</em> men upon it actors.</p> + </div> + +<!-- <a class="pagenum disguise" id="page102" title="102"> </a>[Blank Page] --> + + + +<div id="advertisement"> + <p class="advert_title"><a class="pagenum disguise" id="page103" title="103"> </a>LITTLE BOOKS<br /> + BY FAMOUS WRITERS</p> + <ul> + <li><p class="ad_title"><strong>The First Christmas</strong> (From “Ben-Hur”)</p> + <p class="ad_author">By Lew. 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