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diff --git a/30038-h/30038-h.htm b/30038-h/30038-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..726dfdc --- /dev/null +++ b/30038-h/30038-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,3632 @@ +<!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"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Line-o'-Verse or Two, by Bert Leston Taylor. + </title> + + <style type="text/css"> + +/*<![CDATA[*/ + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + + h1,h2,h3 { + text-align: center; + clear: both; + } + + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { visibility: hidden; + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .box { width: 450px; + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center; + padding: 1em; + border-style: none; } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + a { text-decoration: none; } + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + .figleft {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: + 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + .figright {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;} + + /*]]>*/ + + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30038 ***</div> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 311px;"> +<img src="images/imgcover.jpg" width="311" height="550" alt="cover" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="box"> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> +<h1>A Line-o’-Verse or Two</h1> + +<p> </p> + +<h3>By</h3> +<h2>Bert Leston Taylor</h2> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 200px;"> +<img src="images/deco_tpage.png" width="200" height="105" alt="page decoration" title="" /> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<h2>The Reilly & Britton Co.</h2> +<h3>Chicago</h3> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> +<p class="center"> +Copyright, 1911<br /> +by<br /> +The Reilly & Britton Co.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>NOTE</strong></p> + + +<p>For the privilege of reprinting the rimes gathered +here I am indebted to the courtesy of +the <em>Chicago Tribune</em> and <em>Puck</em>, in whose pages +most of them first appeared. “The Lay of St. +Ambrose” is new.</p> + +<p>One reason for rounding up this fugitive +verse and prisoning it between covers was this: +Frequently—more or less—I receive a request +for a copy of this jingle or that, and it is easier +to mention a publishing house than to search +through ancient and dusty files.</p> + +<p>The other reason was that I wanted to.</p> + +<p style="margin-left: 20em;">B. L. T.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> +<p><strong><em>TO MY READERS</em></strong></p> + + +<p><em>Not merely of this book,—but a larger company, +with whom, through the medium of the</em> Chicago +Tribune, <em>I have been on very pleasant terms for +several years,—this handful of rime is joyously +dedicated.</em></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> + +<p><strong>THE LAY OF ST. AMBROSE</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 3em;"> +“<em>And hard by doth dwell, in St. Catherine’s cell,</em><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;"><em>Ambrose, the anchorite old and grey.</em>”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 10em;" class="smcap">—The Lay of St. Nicholas.</span> +</p> + + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Ambrose the anchorite old and grey</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Larruped himself in his lonely cell,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">And many a welt on his pious pelt</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The scourge evoked as it rose and fell.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">For hours together the flagellant leather</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Went whacketty-whack with his groans of pain;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">And the lay-brothers said, with a wag of the head,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Ambrose has been at the bottle again.”</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">And such, in sooth, was the sober truth;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">For the single fault of this saintly soul</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Was a desert thirst for the cup accurst,—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A quenchless love for the Flowing Bowl.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">When he woke at morn with a head forlorn</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a taste like a last-year swallow’s nest,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">He would kneel and pray, then rise and flay</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">His sinful body like all possessed.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Frequently tempted, he fell from grace,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And as often he found the devil to pay;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">But by diligent scourging and diligent purging</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">He managed to keep Old Nick at bay.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">This was the plight of our anchorite,—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">An endless penance condemned to dree,—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">When it chanced one day there came his way</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">A Mystical Book with a golden Key.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">This Mystical Book was a guide to health,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That none might follow and go astray;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">While a turn of the Key unlocked the wealth</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That all unknown in the Scriptures lay.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Disease is sin, the Book defined;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Sickness is error to which men cling;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Pain is merely a state of mind,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And matter a non-existent thing.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">If a tooth should ache, or a leg should break,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">You simply “affirm” and it’s sound again.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Cut and contusion are only delusion,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And indigestion a fancied pain.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">For pain is naught if you “hold a thought,”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Fevers fly at your simple say;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">You have but to affirm, and every germ</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Will fold up its tent and steal away.</span></p> + +<hr style='margin-left: 5em; width: 15%;' /> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">From matin gong to even-song</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Ambrose pondered this mystic lore,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Till what had seemed fiction took on a conviction</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That words had never possessed before.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +“If pain,” quoth he, “is a state of mind,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">If a rough hair shirt to silk is kin,—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">If these things are error, pray where’s the terror</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">In scourging and purging oneself of sin?</span></p> + +<p> +“It certainly seemeth good to me,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">By and large, in part and in whole.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">I’ll put it in practice and find if it fact is,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Or only a mystical rigmarole.”</span></p> + +<hr style='margin-left: 5em; width: 15%;' /> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">The very next night our anchorite</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of the Flowing Bowl drank long and deep.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">He argued this wise: “New Thought applies</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">No fitter to lamb than it does to sheep.”</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">When he woke at morn with a head forlorn</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And a taste akin to a parrot’s cage,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">He knelt and prayed, then up and flayed</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">His sinful flesh in a righteous rage.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Whacketty-whack on breast and back,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Whacketty-whack, before, behind;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">But he held the thought as he laid it on,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">“Pain is merely a state of mind.”</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Whacketty-whack on breast and back,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Whacketty-whack on calf and shin;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">And the lay-brothers said, with a wag of the head,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">“<em>Ain’t</em> he the glutton for discipline!”</span></p> + +<hr style='margin-left: 5em; width: 15%;' /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Now every night our anchorite</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Was exceedingly tight when he went to bed.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">The scourge that once pained him no longer restrained him,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nor even the fear of an aching head.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">For he woke at morn with a pate as clear</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">As the silvery chime of the matin bell;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">And without any jogging he fell to his flogging,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And larruped himself in his lonely cell.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">But the leather had lost its power to sting;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">To pangs of the flesh he was now immune;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">His rough hair shirt no longer hurt,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Nor the pebbles he wore in his wooden shoon.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">When conscience was troubled he cheerfully doubled</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">His matinal dose of discipline;—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">A deuce of a scourging, sufficient for purging</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The Devil himself of original sin.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Whacketty-whack on breast and back,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Whacketty-whack from morn to noon;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Whacketty-whacketty-whacketty-whack!—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Till the abbey rang with the dismal tune.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Deacon and prior, lay-brother and friar</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Exclaimed at these whoppings spectacular;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">And even the Abbot remarked that the habit</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Of scourging oneself might be carried too far.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> +“My son,” said he, “I am pleased to see<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Such penance as never was known before;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">But you raise such a racket in dusting your jacket,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The noise is becoming a bit of a bore.</span></p> + +<p> +“How would it do if you whaled yourself<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">From eight to ten or from one to three?</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Or if ‘More’ is your motto, pray hire a grotto;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I know of one you can have rent free.”</span></p> + +<hr style='margin-left: 5em; width: 15%;' /> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Ambrose the anchorite bowed his head,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And girded his loins and went away.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">He rented a cavern not far from a tavern,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And tippled by night and scourged by day.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">The more the penance the more the sin,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">The more he whopped him the more he drank;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">Till his hair fell out and his cheeks fell in,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And his corpulent figure grew long and lank.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">At Whitsuntide he up and died,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">While flaying himself for his final spree.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">And who shall say whether ’twas liquor or leather</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">That hurried him into eternity?</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">They made him a saint, as well they might,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">And gave him a beautiful aureole.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;">And—somehow or other, this circle of light</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">Suggests the rim of the Flowing Bowl.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>TO A TALL SPRUCE</strong></p> + + +<p> + Pride of the forest primeval,<br /> + Peer of the glorious pine,<br /> + Doomed to an end that is evil,<br /> + Fearful the fate that is thine!</p> + +<p> + Peer of the glorious pine,<br /> + Now the landlooker has found you,<br /> + Fearful the fate that is thine—<br /> + Fate of the spruces around you.</p> + +<p> + Now the landlooker has found you,<br /> + Stripped of your beautiful plume—<br /> + Fate of the spruces around you—<br /> + Swiftly you’ll draw to your doom.</p> + +<p> + Stripped of your beautiful plume,<br /> + Bzzng! into logs they will whip you.<br /> + Swiftly you’ll draw to your doom;<br /> + To the pulp mill they will ship you.</p> + +<p> + Bzzng! into logs they will whip you,<br /> + Lumbermen greedy for gold.<br /> + To the pulp mill they will ship you.<br /> + Hearken, there’s worse to be told!</p> + +<p> + Lumbermen greedy for gold<br /> + Over your ruins will caper.<br /> + Hearken, there’s worse to be told:<br /> + You will be made into paper!</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> + Over your ruins will caper<br /> + Murderous shavers and hooks.<br /> + You will be made into paper!<br /> + You will be made into books!</p> + +<p> + Murderous shavers and hooks<br /> + Swiftly your pride will diminish.<br /> + You will be made into books!<br /> + Horrible, horrible finish!</p> + +<p> + Swiftly your pride will diminish.<br /> + You will become a romance!<br /> + Horrible, horrible finish!<br /> + Fate has no sadder mischance.</p> + +<p> + You will become a romance,<br /> + Filled with “Gadzooks!” and “Have at you!”<br /> + Fate has no sadder mischance;<br /> + It would wring tears from a statue.</p> + +<p> + Filled with “Gadzooks!” and “Have at you!”<br /> + You may become a “Lazarre”—<br /> + (It would wring tears from a statue)—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Graustark,” “Stovepipe of Navarre.”</span></p> + +<p> + You may become a “Lazarre”;<br /> + Fate has still worse it can turn on—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Graustark,” “Stovepipe of Navarre,”</span><br /> + Even a “Dorothy Vernon”!</p> + +<p> + Fate has still worse it can turn on—<br /> + Lower you cannot descend;<br /> + Even a “Dorothy Vernon”!—<br /> + That is the limit—the end.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> + Lower you cannot descend.<br /> + Doomed to an end that is evil,<br /> + That <em>is</em> the limit—the <em>end</em>!<br /> + Pride of the forest primeval.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>IN THE LAMPLIGHT</strong></p> + + +<p> + The dinner done, the lamp is lit,<br /> + And in its mellow glow we sit<br /> + And talk of matters, grave and gay,<br /> + That went to make another day.<br /> + Comes Little One, a book in hand,<br /> + With this request, nay, this command—<br /> + (For who’d gainsay the little sprite)—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Please—will you read to me to-night?”</span></p> + +<p> + Read to you, Little One? Why, yes.<br /> + What shall it be to-night? You guess<br /> + You’d like to hear about the Bears—<br /> + Their bowls of porridge, beds and chairs?<br /> + Well, that you shall.... There! that tale’s done!<br /> + And now—you’d like another one?<br /> + To-morrow evening, Curly Head.<br /> + It’s “hass-pass seven.” Off to bed!</p> + +<p> + So each night another story:<br /> + Wicked dwarfs and giants gory;<br /> + Dragons fierce and princes daring,<br /> + Forth to fame and fortune faring;<br /> + Wandering tots, with leaves for bed;<br /> + Houses made of gingerbread;<br /> + Witches bad and fairies good,<br /> + And all the wonders of the wood.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I like the witches best,” says she</span><br /> + Who nightly nestles on my knee;<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> + And why by them she sets such store,<br /> + Psychologists may puzzle o’er.<br /> + Her likes are mine, and I agree<br /> + With all that she confides to me.<br /> + And thus we travel, hand in hand,<br /> + The storied roads of Fairyland.</p> + +<p> + Ah, Little One, when years have fled,<br /> + And left their silver on my head,<br /> + And when the dimming eyes of age<br /> + With difficulty scan the page,<br /> + Perhaps <em>I’ll</em> turn the tables then;<br /> + Perhaps <em>I’ll</em> put the question, when<br /> + I borrow of your better sight—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Please—will you read to me to-night?”</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE BREAKFAST FOOD FAMILY</strong></p> + + +<p> + John Spratt will eat no fat,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nor will he touch the lean;</span><br /> + He scorns to eat of any meat,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">He lives upon Foodine.</span></p> + +<p> + But Mrs. Spratt will none of that,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foodine she cannot eat;</span><br /> + Her special wish is for a dish<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Expurgated Wheat.</span></p> + +<p> + To William Spratt that food is flat<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">On which his mater dotes.</span><br /> + His favorite feed—his special need—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is Eata Heapa Oats.</span></p> + +<p> + But sister Lil can’t see how Will<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Can touch such tasteless food.</span><br /> + As breakfast fare it can’t compare,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">She says, with Shredded Wood.</span></p> + +<p> + Now, none of these Leander please,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">He feeds upon Bath Mitts.</span><br /> + While sister Jane improves her brain<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With Cero-Grapo-Grits.</span></p> + +<p> + Lycurgus votes for Father’s Oats;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Proggine appeals to May;</span><br /> + The junior John subsists upon<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Uneeda Bayla Hay.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> + Corrected Wheat for little Pete;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Flaked Pine for Dot; while “Bub”</span><br /> + The infant Spratt is waxing fat<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">On Battle Creek Near-Grub.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>“TREASURE ISLAND”</strong></p> + + +<p> + Comes little lady, a book in hand,<br /> + A light in her eyes that I understand,<br /> + And her cheeks aglow from the faery breeze<br /> + That sweeps across the uncharted seas.<br /> + She gives me the book, and her word of praise<br /> + A ton of critical thought outweighs.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I’ve finished it, daddie!”—a sigh thereat.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Are there any more books in the world like that?”</span></p> + +<p> + No, little lady. I grieve to say<br /> + That of all the books in the world to-day<br /> + There’s not another that’s quite the same<br /> + As this magic book with the magic name.<br /> + Volumes there be that are pure delight,<br /> + Ancient and yellowed or new and bright;<br /> + But—little and thin, or big and fat—<br /> + There are no more books in the world like that.</p> + +<p> + And what, little lady, would I not give<br /> + For the wonderful world in which you live!<br /> + What have I garnered one-half as true<br /> + As the tales Titania whispers you?<br /> + Ah, late we learn that the only truth<br /> + Was that which we found in the Book of Youth.<br /> + Profitless others, and stale, and flat;—<br /> + There are no more books in the world like that.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A BALLADE OF SPRING’S UNREST</strong></p> + + +<p> + Up in the woodland where Spring<br /> + Comes as a laggard, the breeze<br /> + Whispers the pines that the King,<br /> + Fallen, has yielded the keys<br /> + To his White Palace and flees<br /> + Northward o’er mountain and dale.<br /> + Speed then the hour that frees!<br /> + Ho, for the pack and the trail!</p> + +<p> + Northward my fancy takes wing,<br /> + Restless am I, ill at ease.<br /> + Pleasures the city can bring<br /> + Lose now their power to please.<br /> + Barren, all barren, are these,<br /> + Town life’s a tedious tale;<br /> + That cup is drained to the lees—<br /> + Ho, for the pack and the trail!</p> + +<p> + Ho, for the morning I sling<br /> + Pack at my back, and with knees<br /> + Brushing a thoroughfare, fling<br /> + Into the green mysteries:<br /> + One with the birds and the bees,<br /> + One with the squirrel and quail,<br /> + Night, and the stream’s melodies—<br /> + Ho, for the pack and the trail!</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><em>L’Envoi</em></span></p> + +<p> + Pictures and music and teas,<br /> + Theaters—books even—stale.<br /> + Ho, for the smell of the trees!<br /> + Ho, for the pack and the trail!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>WHY?</strong></p> + + +<p> + Why, when the sun is gold,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The weather fine,</span><br /> + The air (this phrase is old)<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Gascon wine;—</span></p> + +<p> + Why, when the leaves are red,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And yellow, too,</span><br /> + And when (as has been said)<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The skies are blue;—</span></p> + +<p> + Why, when all things promote<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">One’s peace and joy,—</span><br /> + A joy that is (to quote)<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without alloy;—</span></p> + +<p> + Why, when a man’s well off,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Happy and gay,</span><br /> +<em>Why</em> must he go play golf<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And spoil his day!</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE RIME OF THE CLARK STREET CABLE</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>Now happily extinct.</em>)</span></p> + + +<p> + Twas in a vault beneath the street,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the trench of the traction rope,</span><br /> + That I found a guy with a fishy eye<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a think tank filled with dope.</span></p> + +<p> + His hair was matted, his face was black,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And matted and black was he;</span><br /> + And I heard this wight in the vault recite,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“In a singular minor key”:</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: .3em;">“Oh, I am the guy with the fishy eye</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the think tank filled with dope.</span><br /> + My work is to watch the beautiful botch<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That’s known as the Clark Street Rope.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I pipes my eye as the rope goes by</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">For every danger spot.</span><br /> + If I spies one out I gives a shout,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And we puts in another knot.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Them knots is all like brothers to me,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I loves ’em, one and all.”</span><br /> + The muddy guy with the fishy eye<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A muddy tear let fall.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“There goes a knot we tied last week,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">There’s one what we tied to-day;</span><br /> + And there’s a patch was hard to reach,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And caused six hours’ delay.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Two hundred seventy-nine, all told,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I knows their history;</span><br /> + And I’m most attached to a break we patched<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the winter of ’eighty-three.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“For every time that knot comes round</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">It sings out, ‘Howdy, Bill!</span><br /> + We’ll walk ’em home to-night, old man,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From here to the Ferris Wheel.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“‘We’ll walk ’em in the rush hours, Bill,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A swearing company,</span><br /> + As we’ve walked ’em, Bill, since I was tied,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the winter of ’eighty-three.’”</span></p> + +<p> + The muddy guy with the fishy eye<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Let fall another tear.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Them knots is wife and child to me;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I’ve known ’em forty year.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“For I am the guy with the fishy eye</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the think tank filled with dope,</span><br /> + Whose work is to watch the lovely botch<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That’s known as the Clark Street Rope.”</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>MISS LEGION</strong></p> + + +<p> + She is hotfoot after Cultyure,<br /> + She pursues it with a club.<br /> + She breathes a heavy atmosphere<br /> + Of literary flub.<br /> + No literary shrine so far<br /> + But she is there to kneel;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">But—</span><br /> + Her favorite line of reading<br /> + Is O. Meredith’s “Lucille.”</p> + +<p> + Of course she’s up on pictures—<br /> + Passes for a connoisseur.<br /> + On free days at the Institute<br /> + You’ll always notice her.<br /> + She qualifies approval<br /> + Of a Titian or Corot;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">But—</span><br /> + She throws a fit of rapture<br /> + When she comes to Bouguereau.</p> + +<p> + And when you talk of music,<br /> + She is Music’s devotee.<br /> + She will tell you that Beethoven<br /> + Always makes her wish to pray;<br /> + And “dear old Bach!” His very name<br /> + She says, her ear enchants;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">But—</span><br /> + Her favorite piece is Weber’s<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Invitation to the Dance.”</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A BALLADE OF DEATH AND TIME</strong></p> + + +<p> + I hold it truth with him who sweetly sings—<br /> + The weekly music of the <em>London Sphere</em>—<br /> + That deathless tomes the living present brings:<br /> + Great literature is with us year on year.<br /> + Books of the mighty dead, whom men revere,<br /> + Remind me I can make <em>my</em> books sublime.<br /> + But prithee, bay my brow while I am here:<br /> + Why do we always wait for Death and Time?</p> + +<p> + Shakespeare, great spirit, beat his mighty wings,<br /> + As I beat mine, for the occasion near.<br /> + He knew, as I, the worth of present things:<br /> + Great literature is with us year on year.<br /> + Methinks I meet across the gulf his clear<br /> + And tranquil eye; his calm reflections chime<br /> + With mine: “Why do we at the present fleer?<br /> + Why do we always wait for Death and Time?”</p> + +<p> + The reading world with acclamation rings<br /> + For my last book. It led the list at Weir,<br /> + Altoona, Rahway, Painted Post, Hot Springs:<br /> + Great literature is with us year on year.<br /> + The <em>Bookman</em> gives me a vociferous cheer.<br /> + Howells approves! I can no higher climb.<br /><br /> + Bring then the laurel, crown my bright career.<br /> + Why do we always wait for Death and Time?</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><em>L’Envoi</em></span></p> + +<p> + Critics, who pastward, ever pastward peer,<br /> + Great literature is with us year on year.<br /> + Trumpet my fame while I am in my prime.<br /> + Why do we always wait for Death and Time?</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE KAISER’S FAREWELL TO PRINCE HENRY</strong></p> + + +<p> + Aufwiedersehen, brother mine!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Farewells will soon be kissed;</span><br /> + And ere you leave to breast the brine<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give me once more your fist;</span></p> + +<p> + That mailéd fist, clenched high in air<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">On many a foreign shore,</span><br /> + Enforcing coaling stations where<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">No stations were before;</span></p> + +<p> + That fist, which weaker nations view<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As if ’twere Michael’s own,</span><br /> + And which appals the heathen who<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bow down to wood and stone.</span></p> + +<p> + But this trip no brass knuckles. Glove<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That heavy mailéd hand;</span><br /> + Your mission now is one of Love<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Peace—you understand.</span></p> + +<p> + All that’s American you’ll praise;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Yank can do no wrong.</span><br /> + To use his own expressive phrase,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just “jolly him along.”</span></p> + +<p> + Express surprise to find, the more<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of Roosevelt you see,</span><br /> + How much I am like Theodore,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Theodore like me.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span> + I am, in fact, (this might not be<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A bad thing to suggest,)</span><br /> + The Theodore of the East, and he<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The William of the West.</span></p> + +<p> + And, should you get a chance, find out—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">If anybody knows—</span><br /> + Exactly what it’s all about,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That Doctrine of Monroe’s.</span></p> + +<p> + That’s <em>entre nous</em>. My present plan<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You know as well as I:</span><br /> + Be just as Yankee as you can;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">If needs be, eat some pie.</span></p> + +<p> + Cut out the ’kraut, cut out Rhine wine,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cut out the Schützenfest,</span><br /> + The Sängerbund, the Turnverein,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Kommers, and the rest.</span></p> + +<p> + And if some fool society<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“Die Wacht am Rhein” should sing,</span><br /> +<em>You</em> sing “My Country, ’Tis of Thee”—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tune’s “God Save the King.”</span></p> + +<p> + To our own kindred in that land<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">There’s not much you need tell.</span><br /> + Just tell them that you saw me, and<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That I was looking well.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>TO LILLIAN RUSSELL</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>A reminiscence of 18—.</em>)</span></p> + + +<p> + Dear Lillian! (The “dear” one risks;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Miss Russell” were a bit austerer)—</span><br /> + Do you remember Mr. Fiske’s<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Dramatic Mirror</em></span></p> + +<p> + Back when—? (But we’ll not count the years;<br /> + The way they’ve sped is most surprising.)<br /> + You were a trifle in arrears<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">For advertising.</span></p> + +<p> + I brought the bill to your address;<br /> + I was the <em>Mirror’s</em> bill collector—<br /> + In Thespian haunts a more or less<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Familiar spectre.</span></p> + +<p> + On that (to me) momentous day<br /> + You dwelt amid the city’s clatter,<br /> + A few doors west of old Broadway;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">The street—no matter.</span></p> + +<p> + But while you have forgot the debt,<br /> + And him who called in line of duty,<br /> + He never, never shall forget<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your wondrous beauty.</span></p> + +<p> + You were too fair for mortal speech,—<br /> + Enchanting, positively rippin’;<br /> + You were some dream, and quelque peach,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And beaucoup pippin.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span> + Your “fight with Time” had not begun,<br /> + Nor any reason to promote it;<br /> + No beauty battles to be won.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beauty? You wrote it!</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“A bill?” you murmured in distress,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“A bill?” (I still can hear you say it.)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“A bill from Mr. Fiske? Oh, yes ...</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">I’ll call and pay it.”</span></p> + +<p> + And he, the thrice-requited kid,<br /> + That such a goddess should address him,<br /> + Could only blush and paw his lid,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And stammer, “Yes’m!”</span></p> + +<p> + Eheu! It seems a cycle since,<br /> + But still the nerve of memory tingles.<br /> + And here you’re writing Beauty Hints,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I these jingles.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>DORNRÖSCHEN</strong></p> + + +<p> + In the great hall of Castle Innocence,<br /> + Hedged round with thorns of maiden doubts and fears,—<br /> + Within, without, a silence grave, intense,—<br /> + Her soul lies sleeping through the rose-leaf years.</p> + +<p> + Hedged round with thorns of maiden doubts and fears;<br /> + And all save one the thither path shall miss.<br /> + Her soul lies sleeping through the rose-leaf years,<br /> + Waiting the Prince and his awakening kiss.</p> + +<p> + And all save one the thither path shall miss;<br /> + For one alone may thread the thorn defence.<br /> + Waiting the Prince and his awakening kiss,<br /> + A hush broods over Castle Innocence.</p> + +<p> + For one alone may thread the thorn defence,<br /> + Care free, heart free, and singing on his way.<br /> + A hush broods over Castle Innocence<br /> + One comes to wake;—but when—ah, who can say!</p> + +<p> + Care free, heart free, and singing on his way,<br /> + One comes all thorns of Fear and Doubt to dare.<br /> + One comes to wake! But when? Ah, who can say<br /> + The hour his light feet press the castle stair?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> + One comes all thorns of Fear and Doubt to dare!<br /> + Thorns with his coming into roses bloom.<br /> + The hour his light feet press the castle stair<br /> + The warders of the castle hall give room.</p> + +<p> + Thorns with his coming into roses bloom;<br /> + For him the flowers of Trust and Faith unfold.<br /> + The warders of the castle hall give room<br /> + Before the young Prince of the Heart of Gold.</p> + +<p> + For him the flowers of Trust and Faith unfold;<br /> + Till then the thorns of maiden doubts and fears.<br /> + Before the young Prince of the Heart of Gold<br /> + Her rose-soul slumbers through the tranquil years.</p> + +<p> + Till then the thorns of maiden doubts and fears.<br /> + Within, without, a silence grave, intense.<br /> + Her rose-soul slumbers through the tranquil years<br /> + In the great hall of Castle Innocence.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>“FAREWELL!”</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>Evoked by Calverley’s “Forever.”</em>)</span></p> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Farewell!” Another gloomy word</span><br /> + As ever into language crept.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">’Tis often written, never heard</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Except</span></p> + +<p> + In playhouse. Ere the hero flits<br /> + (In handcuffs) from our pitying view,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Farewell!” he murmurs, then exits</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">R. U.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Farewell!” is much too sighful for</span><br /> + An age that has not time to sigh.<br /> + We say, “I’ll see you later,” or<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">“Good-bye!”</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Fare well” meant long ago, before</span><br /> + It crept tear-spattered into song,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Safe voyage!” “Pleasant journey!” or</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">“So long!”</span></p> + +<p> + But gone its cheery, old-time ring:<br /> + The poets made it rime with knell.<br /> + Joined, it became a dismal thing—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">“Farewell!”</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Farewell!” Into the lover’s soul</span><br /> + You see fate plunge the cruel iron.<br /> + All poets use it. It’s the whole<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Byron.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I only feel—farewell!” said he;</span><br /> + And always tearful was the telling.<br /> + Lord Byron was eternally<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Farewelling.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Farewell!” A dismal word, ’tis true.</span><br /> + (And why not tell the truth about it?)<br /> + But what on earth would poets do<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Without it!</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>REFORM IN OUR TOWN</strong></p> + + +<p> + There was a man in Our Town<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Jimson was his name,</span><br /> + Who cried, “Our civic government<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Is honeycombed with shame.”</span><br /> + He called us neighbors in and said,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“By Graft we’re overrun.</span><br /> + Let’s have a general cleaning up,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As other towns have done.”</span></p> + +<p> + The citizens of Our Town<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Responded to the call;</span><br /> + Beneath the banner of Reform<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">We gathered one and all.</span><br /> + We sent away for men expert<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In hunting civic sin,</span><br /> + To ask these practised gentlemen<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Just how we should begin.</span></p> + +<p> + The experts came to Our Town<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And told us how ’twas done.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Begin with Gas and Traction,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And half your fight is won.</span><br /> + Begin with Gas and Traction;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The rest will follow soon.”</span><br /> + We looked at one another<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hummed a different tune.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span> + Said Smith, “Saloons in Our Town<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are palaces of shame.”</span><br /> + Said Jones, “Police corruption<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has hurt the town’s fair name.”</span><br /> + Said Brown, “Our lawless children<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pitch pennies as they please.”</span><br /> + Now would it not be wiser<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To start Reform with these?</span></p> + +<p> + The men who came to Our Town<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Replied, “No haste with these;</span><br /> + Begin with Gas—or Water—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The roots of the disease.”</span><br /> + We looked at one another<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hemmed and hawed a bit;</span><br /> + Enthusiasm faded then<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From every single cit.</span></p> + +<p> + The men who came to Our Town<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Expressed a mild surprise,</span><br /> + Then they too at each other<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Looked “with a wild surmise.”</span><br /> + Jimson had stock in Traction,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Jones had stock in Gas,</span><br /> + And Smith and Brown in this and that,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">So—nothing came to pass.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> + The profligates of Our Town<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pitch pennies as of yore;</span><br /> + Police corruption flourishes<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As rankly as before,</span><br /> + Still are our gilded ginmills<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Foul palaces of shame.</span><br /> + Reform is just as distant<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As when the wise men came.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>WHEN THE SIRUP’S ON THE FLAPJACK</strong></p> + + +<p> + When the sirup’s on the flapjack and the coffee’s in the pot;<br /> + When the fly is in the butter—where he’d rather be than not;<br /> + When the cloth is on the table, and the plates are on the cloth;<br /> + When the salt is in the shaker and the chicken’s in the broth;<br /> + When the cream is in the pitcher and the pitcher’s on the tray,<br /> + And the tray is on the sideboard when it isn’t on the way;<br /> + When the rind is on the bacon and likewise upon the cheese,<br /> + Then I somehow feel inspired to do a string of rimes like these.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>BREAD PUDDYNGE</strong></p> + + +<p> + When good King Arthur ruled our land<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was a goodly king,</span><br /> + And his idea of what to eat<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was a good bag puddynge.</span></p> + +<p> + The bag puddynge he had in mind<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was thickly strewn with plums,</span><br /> + With alternating lumps of fat<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As big as my two thumbs.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“My love,” quoth he to Guinevere,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“We have a joust to-day—</span><br /> + Sir Launce is here, Sir Tris, Sir Gal,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all the brave array.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Put everything across to-night</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In guise of goodly fare,</span><br /> + And cook us up a bag puddynge<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That will y-curl our hair.”</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I’ll curl your hair,” said Guinevere,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“As tight as tight can be;</span><br /> + I’ll cook you up a bag puddynge<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From my new recipee.”</span></p> + +<hr style='margin-left: 3em; width: 15%;' /> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Pitch in and eat, my merry men!”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That night the King did say;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“But save a little room—a bag</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Puddynge is on the way.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Ho! here it comes! Now, by my sword,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A famous feast ’twill be.</span><br /> + Queen Guinevere hath cooked it, Launce,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From her own recipee.”</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Odslife!” cried Launce, “if there is aught</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I love ’tis this same thing.”</span><br /> + And he and all the knights did fall<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon that bag puddynge.</span></p> + +<p> + One taste, and every holy knight<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sat speechless for a space,</span><br /> + While disappointment and disgust<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Were writ in every face.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Odsbodikins!” Sir Tristram cried,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“In all my days, by Jing!</span><br /> + I ne’er did taste so flat a mess<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As this here bag puddynge.”</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Odswhiskers, Arthur!” cried Sir Launce,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose license knew no bounds,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I would to Godde I had this stuff</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To poultice up my wounds.”</span></p> + +<p> + King Arthur spat his mouthful out,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And sent for Guinevere.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“What is this frightful mess?” he roared.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“Is this a joke, my dear?”</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Oh, ain’t it good?” asked Guinevere,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her face a rosy red.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I thought ’twould make an awful hit:</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>I made it out of bread!</em>”</span></p> + +<hr style='margin-left: 3em; width: 15%;' /> + +<p> + When good King Arthur ruled our land<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">He was a goodly king,</span><br /> + And only once in all his reign<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Was made a Bread Puddynge.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>MUSCA DOMESTICA</strong></p> + + +<p> + Baby bye, here’s a fly,<br /> + We will watch him, you and I;<br /> + Lest he fall in Baby’s mouth,<br /> + Bringing germs from north and south.<br /> + In the world of things a-wing<br /> + There is not a nastier thing<br /> + Than this pesky little fly;—<br /> + So we’ll watch him, you and I.</p> + +<p> + See him crawl up the wall,<br /> + And he’ll never, never fall;<br /> + Save that, poisoned, he may drop<br /> + In the soup or on the chop.<br /> + Let us coax the cunning brute<br /> + To the tempting Tanglefoot,<br /> + Or invite his thirsty soul<br /> + To the poison-paper bowl.</p> + +<p> + I believe with six such legs<br /> + You or I could walk on eggs;<br /> + But he’d rather crawl on meat<br /> + With his microbe-laden feet.<br /> + Eggs would hardly do as well—<br /> + He could not get through the shell;<br /> + Better far, to spread disease,<br /> + Vegetables, meat, or cheese.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span> + There he goes, on his toes,<br /> + Tickling, tickling Baby’s nose.<br /> + Heaven knows where he has been,<br /> + And what filth he’s wallowed in.<br /> + Drat the nasty little wretch!<br /> + He’s the deuce and all to ketch.<br /> + Ah! He’s settled on the wall.<br /> + Now the thunderbolt shall fall!</p> + +<p> + Baby bye, see that fly?<br /> + We will swat him, you and I.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE PASSIONATE PROFESSOR</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 3em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“<em>But bending low, I whisper only this:</em></span><br /> + <em>‘Love, it is night.’</em>”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;" class="smcap">—Harry Thurston Peck.</span></p> + + +<p> + Love, it is night. The orb of day<br /> + Has gone to hit the cosmic hay.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nocturnal voices now we hear.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Come, heart’s delight, the hour is near</span><br /> + When Passion’s mandate we obey.</p> + +<p> + I would not, sweet, the fact convey<br /> + In any crude and obvious way:<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I merely whisper in your ear—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">“Love, it is night!”</span></p> + +<p> + Candor compels me, pet, to say<br /> + That years my fading charms betray.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tho’ Love be blind, I grant it’s clear</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I’m no Apollo Belvedere.</span><br /> + But after dark all cats are gray.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">Love, it is night!</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A BALLADE OF WOOL-GATHERING</strong></p> + + +<p> + Now is my season of unrest,<br /> + Now calls the forest, day and night;<br /> + And by its pleasant spell obsessed,<br /> + My wits go soaring like a kite.<br /> + Forgive me if I be not bright,<br /> + And pardon if I seem distrait;<br /> + Wood-fancies put my wits to flight;—<br /> + The woods are but a week away.</p> + +<p> + Palleth upon my soul the jest,<br /> + Falleth upon my pen a blight.<br /> + The daily task has lost its zest,<br /> + And everything is flat and trite.<br /> + There’s nothing humorous in sight;<br /> + Don’t mind if I am dull to-day.<br /> + For every column is a fight<br /> + When woods are but a week away.</p> + +<p> + Woods in the robes of summer dressed—<br /> + In greens and grays and browns bedight!<br /> + A journey on a river’s breast,<br /> + Beneath the wedded blue-and-white!...<br /> + This end the Voyage of Delight<br /> + Waits, in a little wood-bound bay,<br /> + A bark canoe, all trim and tight;—<br /> + The woods are but a week away!</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><em>L’Envoi</em></span></p> + +<p> + Dear Reader, there is much to write;<br /> + I’ve many weighty things to say.<br /> + But who can write when woods invite,<br /> + And woods are but a week away!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>TO THE SUN</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>Variations on a theme by Gilbert.</em>)</span></p> + + +<p> + Shine on, Old Top, shine on!<br /> + Across the realms of space<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shine on!</span><br /> + What though I’m in a sorry case?<br /> + What though my collar is a wreck,<br /> + And hangs a rag about my neck?<br /> + What though at food I can but peck?<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never <em>you</em> mind!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shine on!</span></p> + +<p> + Shine on, Old Top, shine on!<br /> + Through leagues of lifeless air<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shine on!</span><br /> + It’s true I’ve no more shirts to wear,<br /> + My underwear is soaked, ’tis true,<br /> + My gullet is a redhot flue—<br /> + But don’t let that unsettle you!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never <em>you</em> mind!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;">Shine on!</span> <span style="margin-left: 3em;">[<em>It shines on.</em>]</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>WHEN IT IS HOT</strong></p> + +<p>“<em>And Nebuchadnezzar commanded the most mighty men +that were in his army to bind Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego, +and to cast them into the burning fiery furnace.</em>”</p> + + +<p> + Consider Mr. Shadrach,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of fiery furnace fame:</span><br /> + He didn’t bleat about the heat<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or fuss about the flame.</span><br /> + He didn’t stew and worry,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And get his nerves in kinks,</span><br /> + Nor fill his skin with limes and gin<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And other “cooling drinks.”</span></p> + +<p> + Consider Mr. Meshach,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who felt the furnace too:</span><br /> + He let it sizz nor queried “Is<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">It hot enough for you?”</span><br /> + He didn’t mop his forehead,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And hunt a shady spot;</span><br /> + Nor did he say, “Gee! what a day!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Believe me, it’s some hot.”</span></p> + +<p> + Consider, too, Abed-nego,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who shared his comrades’ plight:</span><br /> + He didn’t shake his coat and make<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Himself a holy sight.</span><br /> + He didn’t wear suspenders<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Without a coat and vest;</span><br /> + Nor did he scowl and snort and howl,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And make himself a pest.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> + Consider, friends, this trio—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">How little fuss they made.</span><br /> + They didn’t curse when it was worse<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Than ninety in the shade.</span><br /> + They moved about serenely<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Within the furnace bright,</span><br /> + And soon forgot that it was hot,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With “no relief in sight.”</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE SIMPLE, HEARTFELT LAY</strong></p> + + +<p> + Lives of poets oft remind us<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not to wait too long for Time,</span><br /> + But, departing, leave behind us<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Obvious facts embalmed in rime.</span></p> + +<p> + Poems that we have to ponder<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turn us prematurely gray;</span><br /> + We are infinitely fonder<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of the simple, heartfelt lay.</span></p> + +<p> + Whitman’s <em>Leaves of Grass</em> is odious,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Browning’s <em>Ring and Book</em> a bore.</span><br /> + Bleat, O bards, in lines melodious,—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bleat that two and two is four!</span></p> + +<p> + Must we hunt for hidden treasures?<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Nay! We want the heartfelt straight.</span><br /> + Minstrel, sing, in obvious measures—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sing that four and four is eight!</span></p> + +<p> + Whitman leads to easy slumbers,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Browning makes us hunt the hay.</span><br /> + Pipe, ye potes, in simplest numbers,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anything ye have to say.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>Q·HORATIVS·FLACCUS<br /> +B· L· T·SVO·SALVTEM</strong></p> + + +<p> + HAEC·CARMINA·MI·VETVLE·QVAE<br /> + ME·IVVENE·PARVM·DILIGENTER<br /> + COMPOSITA·EXCIDERVNT·SENEX<br /> + REFICIENDA·LIMANDAQVE·IAM<br /> + DVDVM·EXISTIMO·QVOD·NVNC<br /> + DEMVM·FACTVM·EST·MIRARIS<br /> + FORTASSE·CVR·ANGLICE·RE<br /> + SCRIPSERIM·DESINES·MIRARI<br /> + CVM·DIXERO·SINE·FVCO·OPOR<br /> + TERE·POETA·ETIAM·VIVVS·NON<br /> + SOLVM·ACCOMMODEM·MEA·OPERA<br /> + AD·NORMAM·RECENTIORVM·TEM<br /> + PORVM·SED·ETIAM·VTAR·NEMPE<br /> + EA·LINGVA·QVAE·MAIORE·RE<br /> + SILIENDI·VT·ITA·DICAM·VI<br /> + PRAEDITA·VIDEATVR·VELIM<br /> + SINT·NOVI·VERSVS·TIBI·MVL<br /> + TO·IVCVNDIORES·QVAM·PRIS<br /> + CA·EXEMPLA</p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">SCRIBEBAM·HELNGON</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span style="text-decoration: overline;">XVII</span>·KAL·DEC</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A NOTE FROM MR. FLACCUS</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>Concerning the verses that follow.</em>)</span></p> + + +<p>Dear B. L. T.:</p> + +<p>You know my “pomes.” Well, old man, I +was pretty young when I got them out of my system, +and they seem rather raw to me now—I’m +getting along, you know; so I’ve been thinking +that I’d do ’em over again, file ’em down, as we +used to say. Enclosed is the result of my labors.</p> + +<p>I presume you are wondering why I have +done them into United States; but you know perfectly +well that a poet as much alive as I am to-day +must not only keep up with the procession, but +choose a thought-vehicle that has good springs +to it—“beaucoup resiliency,” I s’pose you’d call it.</p> + +<p>I hope you will like these new lines of mine +better than their prototypes.</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yours regardfully,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Q. H. F.</span><br /> +<em>Helngon, November 15.</em></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 15%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p> +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"><strong>I</strong></p> + +<p><strong>TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">“<em>Integer vitæ scelerisque purus.</em>”</span></p> + + +<p> + Fuscus, old scout, if a guy’s on the level<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That’s all the arsenal he’ll have to tote;</span><br /> + Up to St. Peter or down to the Devil,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">No need to carry a gun in his coat.</span></p> + +<p> + Prowling around, as you know is my habit,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I met a wolf in the forest, and he</span><br /> + Beat it for Wolfville and ran like a rabbit.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">(He was some wolf, too, receive it from me.)</span></p> + +<p> + Where I may happen to camp is no matter,—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Paris, Chicago, Ostend or St. Joe,—</span><br /> + Like the old dame in the nursery patter<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I shall make music wherever I go.</span></p> + +<p> + Drop me in Dawson or chuck me in Cadiz,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dump me in Kansas or plant me in Rome,—</span><br /> + I shall keep on making love to the ladies:<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where there’s a skirt is my notion of home.</span></p> + + + + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"><strong>II</strong></p> + +<p><strong>DUETTO</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">“<em>Donec gratus eram.</em>”</span></p> + + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">HORACE:</span><br /> + What time my Lydia owned me lord<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">No Persian king had much on Horace;</span><br /> + And when you blew my bed and board<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I was some sad, believe me, Mawruss.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">LYDIA:</span><br /> + What time you loved no other She,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Before this Chloë person signed you,</span><br /> + I flourished like a green bay tree;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Now I’m the Girl You Left Behind You.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">HORACE:</span><br /> + This Chloë dame that takes my eye<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has so peculiar an allurance</span><br /> + I would not hesitate to die<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">If she could cop my life insurance.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">LYDIA:</span><br /> + Well, as for that, I know a gent<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With whom it’s some delight to dally.</span><br /> + With me he makes an awful dent;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I’d perish once or twice for Cally.</span></p> + +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">HORACE:</span><br /> + Suppose our former love should go<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a new de luxe edition?</span><br /> + Suppose I tie a can to Chlo,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let you play your old position?</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: 5em;">LYDIA:</span><br /> + Why, then, you cork, you butterfly,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You sweet, philandering, perjured villain,</span><br /> + With you I’d love to live and die,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tho’ Cally boy were twice as killin’.</span></p> + + + + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> +<p><strong><span style="margin-left: 5em;">III</span></strong></p> + +<p><strong>TO PYRRHA</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">“<em>Quis multa gracilis.</em>”</span></p> + + +<p> + What young tin whistle gent,<br /> + Bedaubed with barber’s scent,—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">What cheapskate waits on you</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To woo,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">O Pyrrha?</span></p> + +<p> + For whom the puff and rat<br /> + And transformation that<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You bought a year ago</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or so,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">O Pyrrha?</span></p> + +<p> + Peeved? Not a bit. Not I<br /> + I’m sorry for the guy.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">He draws a lovely lime</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">This time,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">O Pyrrha!</span></p> + +<p> + I’ve dipped. The wet ain’t fine.<br /> + Hung on the votive line<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">My duds. The gods can see</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I’m free.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Eh, Pyrrha!</span></p> + + + + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> +<p><strong><span style="margin-left: 5em;">IV</span></strong></p> + +<p><strong>TO ARISTIUS FUSCUS</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">“<em>My sweetly-smiling, sweetly-speaking Lalage.</em>”</span></p> + + +<p> + Fuscus, take a tip from me:<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">This here job’s no bed of roses,</span><br /> + Not the cinch it seems to be,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not the pipe that one supposes.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">What care I, tho’, if I may</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lallygag with Lalage.</span></p> + +<p> + Every day there’s ink to spill,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tho’ I may not feel like working.</span><br /> + Every day a hole to fill;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">One must plug it—there’s no shirking.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oh, that I might all the day</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lallygag with Lalage!</span></p> + +<p> + People say, “Gee! what a snap,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Turning paragraphs and verses.</span><br /> + He’s the band on Fortune’s cap,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gets a barrel of ses-<em>terces</em>.”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Let them gossip, while I play</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hide and seek with Lalage.</span></p> + +<p> + People hand me out advice:<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“Hod, you’re doing too much drivel.</span><br /> + Write us something sweet and nice.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stow the satire, chop the frivol.”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">But we have the rent to pay,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lalage; eh, Lalage?</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> + Ladies shy the saving sense<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Write me patronizing letters;</span><br /> + And there are the writing gents,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Always out to knock their betters.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">What cares Flaccus if he may</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lallygag with Lalage!</span></p> + +<p> + No, old top, the writing lay’s<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not a bed of sweet geranium.</span><br /> + Brickbats mingle with bouquets<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shied at my devoted cranium.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Does it peeve yours truly? Nay.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nothing can—with Lalage.</span></p> + +<p> + Paste this, Fuscus, in your hat:<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Not a pesky thing can peeve me.</span><br /> + Take it, too, from Horace flat,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">She’s some gal, is Lal, believe me.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">So I coin this word to-day,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2.7em;">“Lallygag”—from Lalage.</span></p> + + + + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></p> +<p><strong><span style="margin-left: 5em;">V</span></strong></p> + +<p><strong>TO SYLVIA</strong></p> + + +<p> + Were I on the Latin lay,<br /> + Were I turning Odes to-day,<br /> + You would draw a gem from me,<br /> + Little maid of mystery!</p> + +<p> + In an Ode I’d love to spout you;<br /> + I am simply bug about you.<br /> + That’s the way!—the fairest peach<br /> + Is the one that’s out of reach.</p> + +<p> + I have toasted in my time<br /> + Many a peach (and many a lime),<br /> + All of them, I must confess,<br /> + Lacking your elusiveness.</p> + +<p> + Lalage, my well known flame,<br /> + Was considerable dame;<br /> + Likewise Lydia and Phyllis,<br /> + Chloë, Pyrrha, Amaryllis.</p> + +<p> + Syl, if you had lived when they did<br /> + You’d have had those damsels faded.<br /> + (That will give you, girl, some notion<br /> + Of your Flaccus’s devotion.)</p> + +<p> + Yep. If I were doing Odes<br /> + In my quondam favorite modes,<br /> + With your image to qui-vive me<br /> + I’d tear off some Ode, believe me!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A BALLAD OF MISFITS</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 3em;"> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“<em>Chacun son métier:</em></span><br /> + <em>Les vaches seront bien gardées.</em>”<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 7em;" class="smcap">—La Fontaine.</span></p> + + +<p> + With skill for doing this or that<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Lord each man endows.</span><br /> + Some men are best for pushing pens,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And some for pushing plows;</span><br /> + And oh, the many many more<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That should be tending cows!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Chacun son métier:</em></span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Les vaches bien gardées.</em></span></p> + +<p> + The ivory-headed serving maid<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Who poses as a “cook,”</span><br /> + She hath a very bovine brain,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">She hath a bovine look.</span><br /> + Oh, prithee, lead her to the kine,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Oh, prithee get the hook!</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Chacun son métier:</em></span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Les vaches bien gardées.</em></span></p> + +<p> + The papering-and-painting gents<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Whose work is never done,</span><br /> + Who mess around your house until<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You pine to pull a gun,</span><br /> + Who take three mortal days to do<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">What should be done in one;—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Chacun son métier:</em></span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Les vaches bien gardées.</em></span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> + The pestilential “pianiste,”<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The screechy singer too,</span><br /> + The writer of the stupid book<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And of the dull review,</span><br /> + The actor who is greatest when<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">He takes his exit cue;—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Chacun son métier:</em></span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Les vaches bien gardées.</em></span></p> + +<p> + If every one were set to do<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The task for which he’s fit,</span><br /> + The writer of these trifling lines<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might also have to quit.</span><br /> + At tending cows the undersigned<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Might make an awful hit.</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Chacun son métier:</em></span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 2em;"><em>Les vaches bien gardées.</em></span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>AN ORIENTAL APOLOGY</strong></p> + + +<p> + When the hour was come Prince Chun arose,<br /> + And balanced a shoestring on his nose.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“From this some notion you will get,”</span><br /> + Said he, “of China’s deep regret.”</p> + +<p> + Now balancing upon his ear<br /> + A stein of foaming lager beer,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“This attitude,” said he, “reveals</span><br /> + How very sorry China feels.”</p> + +<p> + Then spinning top-like on his cue,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I can’t begin to tell to you</span><br /> + The deep remorse we suffer for<br /> + The death of your Ambassador.”</p> + +<p> + Next, placing on his cue a plate,<br /> + He said, as it ’gan to gyrate:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Nothing that’s happened in his reign</span><br /> + Has caused my Emperor so much pain.”</p> + +<p> + Upon his back he did declare,<br /> + While juggling five balls in the air,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“This attitude—the humblest yet—</span><br /> + Expresses personal regret.”</p> + +<p> + Last, spreading out a deck of cards—<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Accept my Emperor’s regards.</span><br /> + As our intentions were well meant,<br /> + Pray overlook the incident.”</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE DAY OF THE COMET</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>May 18, 1910.</em>)</span></p> + + +<p> + Here it is—Eighteenth of May!<br /> + Dawneth now the fatal day<br /> + When we take the awful veil<br /> + Of the fearsome comet’s tail.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Vale, Earth!</span></p> + +<p> + What will happen, heaven knows;<br /> + We can’t even guess, suppose,<br /> + Hazard, speculate, surmise,<br /> + Hint, conjecture, theorize,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or divine.</span></p> + +<p> + Will we merely drill a hole<br /> + Through the trailing aureole?<br /> + Or will the prediction dire<br /> + Of a world destroyed by fire<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Be fulfilled?</span></p> + +<p> + Shall we crook our knees and pray<br /> + Counting this the Judgment Day?<br /> + Or preserve a cosmic ca’m,<br /> + Caring not a cosmic dam<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">What may come?</span></p> + +<p> + There’s the rub. If we but knew<br /> + We should know just what to do.<br /> + Yes is just as good as No<br /> + To all questions. Here we go!—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hang on tight!</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> +<p>THE MORNING AFTER</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>May 19, 1910.</em>)</span></p> + + +<p> + Here we are, friends, whole and hale<br /> + In or through the comet’s tail;<br /> + And as far as we can say,<br /> + Matters are about as they<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Were before.</span></p> + +<p> + Everything is much the same<br /> + As before the comet came.<br /> + Grasses grow and waters run—<br /> + Nothing new beneath the sun—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Same old sphere.</span></p> + +<p> + Life is drab or life is gay,<br /> + Thorny path or primrose way;<br /> + All is common, all is strange;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Down the ringing grooves of change”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spins the world.</span></p> + +<p> + Change but of a humdrum kind.<br /> + What we vaguely had in mind<br /> + Was some new sensation or<br /> + Thrill we never felt before.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Vain desire!</span></p> + +<p> + Nothing’s added to the stock:<br /> + Same old shiver, same old shock.<br /> + Round about the sun we’ll go<br /> + In the same old status quo.<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Awful bore!</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A BALLADE OF IRRESOLUTION</strong></p> + + +<p> + Isolde, in the story old,<br /> + When Ireland’s coast the vessel nears,<br /> + And Death were fairer to behold,<br /> + To Tristan gives “the cup that clears.”<br /> + Straight to their fate the helmsman steers:<br /> + Unknowing, each the potion sips....<br /> + Comes echoing through the ghostly years<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Give me the philtre of thy lips!”</span></p> + +<p> + Ah, that like Tristan I were bold!<br /> + My soul into the future peers,<br /> + And passion flags, and heart grows cold,<br /> + And sicklied resolution veers.<br /> + I see the Sister of the Shears<br /> + Who sits fore’er and snips, and snips....<br /> + Still falls upon my inward ears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Give me the philtre of thy lips!”</span></p> + +<p> + Hero of lovers, largely soul’d!<br /> + Imagination thee enspheres<br /> + With song-enchanted wood and wold<br /> + And casements fronting magic meres.<br /> + Tristan, thy large example cheers<br /> + The faint of heart; thy story grips!—<br /> + My soul again that echo hears,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Give me the philtre of thy lips!”</span></p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><em>L’Envoi</em></span></p> + +<p> + Sweet sorceress, resolve my fears!<br /> + He stakes all who Elysium clips.<br /> + What tho’ the fruit be tares and tears!—<br /> + Give me the philtre of thy lips!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>TO WHAT BASE USES!</strong></p> + +<p>“<em>Mrs. O—— now takes her daily dip at 5 in the afternoon, +instead of in the morning.</em>”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;" class="smcap">—Newport Item.</span></p> + + +<p> + This is the forest primeval.</p> + +<p> + This the spruce with the glorious plume<br /> + That grew in the forest primeval.</p> + +<p> + This is the lumberman big and browned<br /> + Who felled the spruce tree to the ground<br /> + That grew in the forest primeval.</p> + +<p> + This is the man with the paper mill<br /> + Who bought the pulp that paid the bill<br /> + Of the husky lumberjack who chopped<br /> + The lofty spruce and its branches lopped<br /> + That grew in the forest primeval.</p> + +<p> + This is the publisher bland and rich<br /> + Who bought the roll of paper which<br /> + Was made by the man with the paper mill<br /> + Who bought the pulp that paid the bill<br /> + Of the lumberjack with the murderous ax<br /> + Who felled the spruce with lusty hacks<br /> + That grew in the forest primeval.</p> + +<p> + This is the youth with the writing tool<br /> + Who does the daily Newport drool<br /> + That helps to make the publisher rich<br /> + Who ordered the stock of paper which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span><br /> + Was made by the man with the paper mill<br /> + Who bought the pulp that paid the bill<br /> + Of the husky Swede in the Joseph’s coat<br /> + Who swung his ax and the tall spruce smote<br /> + That grew in the forest primeval.</p> + +<p> + This is the lady far from slim<br /> + Who changed the hour of her daily swim<br /> + And excited the youth with the writing tool<br /> + Who does the Newport drivel and drool<br /> + For the prosperous publisher bland and fat<br /> + Who ordered the virgin paper that<br /> + Was made by the man with the paper mill<br /> + Who bought the pulp that paid the bill<br /> + Of Ole Oleson the husky Swede<br /> + Who did a foul and darksome deed<br /> + When he swung his ax with vigor and vim<br /> + And smote the spruce tree tall and trim<br /> + That grew in the forest primeval.</p> + +<p> + This is the shop girl Mag or Liz<br /> + Who daily devours what news there is<br /> + Concerning the lady far from slim<br /> + Who changed the time of her ocean swim<br /> + And excited the youth with the writing tool<br /> + Who does the daily Newport drool<br /> + For the pursy publisher bland and rich<br /> + Who bought the innocent paper which<br /> + Was made by the man with the paper mill<br /> + Who bought the pulp that paid the bill<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span><br /> + Of the Swedish jack who slew the spruce<br /> + That came to a most ignoble use—<br /> + The lofty spruce with the glorious plume—<br /> + The giant spruce that used to loom<br /> + In the heart of the forest primeval.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>HOW THEY MIGHT HAVE BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS</strong></p> + + +<p> + We sprang to the motor, I, Joris and Dirck.<br /> + I snapped on my goggles and got to my work.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Hi, there!” yelled the cop in the helmet of white;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Let her flicker!” said Joris, and into the night,</span><br /> + With a sneer at the speed laws, we hurtled hell-bent<br /> + To carry to Aix the good tidings from Ghent.</p> + +<p> + The going was poor, we expected delay,<br /> + And the usual livestock obstructed the way.<br /> + At Boom we ran over a large yellow dog,<br /> + At Düffeld a chicken, at Mecheln a hog;<br /> + What else, we’d no time to slow down to inquire;<br /> + At Aerschot, confound it! we blew out a tire.</p> + +<p> + I jacked up the axle and ripped off the shoe,<br /> + And snapped on an extra that promised to do.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“All aboard!” I exclaimed as I cranked the machine,</span><br /> + But something was wrong with the curst gasoline.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“By Hasselt!” Dirck groaned, “We’ll be half a day late;</span><br /> + We ought to have sent the good tidings by freight.”</p> + +<p> + False prophet! I tinkered a minute or two<br /> + And again we were off like “a bolt from the blue.”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span><br /> + We ate up the hills at a forty-mile clip,<br /> + And skidded the turns like the snap of a whip,<br /> + Till we dashed into Aix and were pinched by a cop<br /> + For failing to slow when commanded to stop.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Now, wouldn’t that frost you!” said Joris, but we</span><br /> + When we told the glad tidings were instantly free.<br /> + The Mayor himself paid the ten dollars’ fine,<br /> + And blew us to dinner with six kinds of wine,<br /> + Which (the burgesses voted, by common consent)<br /> + Was no more than their due that brought good news from Ghent.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE DINOSAUR</strong></p> + + +<p> + Behold the mighty Dinosaur,<br /> + Famous in prehistoric lore,<br /> + Not only for his weight and strength<br /> + But for his intellectual length.<br /> + You will observe by these remains<br /> + The creature had two sets of brains—<br /> + One in his head (the usual place),<br /> + The other at his spinal base.<br /> + Thus he could reason <em>a priori</em><br /> + As well as <em>a posteriori</em>.<br /> + No problem bothered him a bit;<br /> + He made both head and tail of it.<br /> + So wise he was, so wise and solemn,<br /> + Each thought filled just a spinal column.<br /> + If one brain found the pressure strong<br /> + It passed a few ideas along;<br /> + If something slipped his forward mind<br /> + ’Twas rescued by the one behind;<br /> + And if in error he was caught<br /> + He had a saving afterthought.<br /> + As he thought twice before he spoke<br /> + He had no judgments to revoke;<br /> + For he could think, without congestion,<br /> + Upon both sides of every question.</p> + +<p> + Oh, gaze upon this model beast,<br /> + Defunct ten million years at least.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A BALLADE OF CAP AND BELLS</strong></p> + + +<p> + When as a dewdrop joy enspheres<br /> + This pleasant planet, arched with blue,<br /> + When every prospect charms and cheers,<br /> + And all the world is fair to view—<br /> + Who does not envy (have not you?)<br /> + That mortal, by Thalia kissed,<br /> + Who plies, in plumes of cockatoo,<br /> + The blithesome trade of humorist?</p> + +<p> + But when the wind of fortune veers,<br /> + And blue-white skies turn leaden hue,<br /> + When every pleasant prospect blears<br /> + And all the weary world’s askew—<br /> + Who then would envy (if he knew)<br /> + Jack Point the jester, glum and trist;<br /> + Or ply, tho’ first of all the crew,<br /> + The dismal trade of humorist?</p> + +<p> + Ah, jocund trifles writ in tears,<br /> + And merry stanzas steeped in rue!<br /> + When all the world in drab appears<br /> + The fool must still in motley woo.<br /> + Tho’ bitter be the cud he chew,<br /> + Still must he grind his foolish grist;<br /> + Still must he ply, the long day through,<br /> + The tragic trade of humorist!</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><em>L’Envoi</em></span></p> + +<p> + Lady of Tears, what pains perdue<br /> + The heart and soul of him may twist<br /> + Who doth in cap and bells pursue<br /> + The glad sad trade of humorist!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>GENTLE DOCTOR BROWN</strong></p> + + +<p> + It was a gentle sawbones and his name was Doctor Brown.<br /> + His auto was the terror of a small suburban town.<br /> + His practice, quite amazing for so trivial a place,<br /> + Consisted of the victims of his homicidal pace.</p> + +<p> + So constant was his practice and so high his motor’s gear<br /> + That at knocking down pedestrians he never had a peer;<br /> + But it must, in simple justice, be as truly written down<br /> + That no man could be more thoughtful than gentle Doctor Brown.</p> + +<p> + Whatever was the errand on which Doctor Brown was bent<br /> + He’d stop to patch a victim up and never charged a cent.<br /> + He’d always pause, whoever ’twas he happened to run down:<br /> + A humane and a thoughtful man was gentle Doctor Brown.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“How fortunate,” he would observe, “how fortunate ’twas I</span><br /> + That knocked you galley-west and heard your wild and wailing cry.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span><br /> + There <em>are</em> some heartless wretches who would leave you here alone,<br /> + Without a sympathetic ear to catch your dying moan.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Such callousness,” said Doctor Brown, “I cannot comprehend;</span><br /> + To fathom such indifference I simply don’t pretend.<br /> + One ought to do his duty, and I never am remiss.<br /> + A simple word of thanks is all I ask. Here, swallow this!”</p> + +<p> + Then, reaching in the tonneau, he’d unpack his little kit,<br /> + And perform an operation that was workmanlike and fit.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“You may survive,” said Doctor Brown; “it’s happened once or twice.</span><br /> + If not, you’ve had the benefit of competent advice.”</p> + +<p> + Oh, if all our motormaniacs were equally humane,<br /> + How little bitterness there’d be, or reason to complain!<br /> + How different our point of view if we were ridden down<br /> + By lunatics as thoughtful as gentle Doctor Brown!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>IN THE GALLERY</strong></p> + + +<p> + Weirder than the pictures<br /> + Are the folks who come<br /> + With their owlish strictures—<br /> + Telling why they’re bum.<br /> + Of all lines of babble<br /> + This one has the call:<br /> + Picture gallery gabble<br /> + Is the best of all.</p> + +<p> + Literary fluffle<br /> + Never, never cloys;<br /> + Much has Mrs. Guffle<br /> + Added to my joys.<br /> + For that chitter-chatter<br /> + I delight to fall.<br /> + But the picture patter<br /> + Is the best of all.</p> + +<p> + With the music highbrows<br /> + I delight to chat,<br /> + Elevating my brows<br /> + Over this and that.<br /> + Music tittle-tattle<br /> + Never fails to thrall.<br /> + But the picture prattle<br /> + Is the best of all.</p> + +<p> + Sociologic rub-dub<br /> + I delight to hear;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span><br /> + Philosophic flub-dub<br /> + Titillates my ear.<br /> + Lovelier yet the spiffle<br /> + In the picture hall;<br /> + For the picture piffle<br /> + Is the best of all.</p> + +<p> + Weirder than the pictures<br /> + Are the folks who stand<br /> + Passing owlish strictures,<br /> + Catalogue in hand.<br /> + Hear the bunk they babble<br /> + Under every wall.<br /> + Yes. The gallery gabble<br /> + Is the best of all.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>ALWAYS</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">“<em>Il y a tous les jours quelque dam chose.</em>”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 12em;" class="smcap">—Abelard to Heloise.</span></p> + + +<p> + When Mrs. Mead was full of groans,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When symptoms of all sorts assailed her,</span><br /> + She sent for bluff old Doctor Jones,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And told him all the things that ailed her.</span><br /> + It took her nearly half the day,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And when she finished out the string—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Ye-e-s, Mrs. Mead,” drawled Doctor J.,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“There’s always some dam thing.”</span></p> + +<p> + I like the line. It’s worth a ton<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Of optimistic commonplaces.</span><br /> + It’s tonic, it refreshes one,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">It cheers, it stimulates, it braces.</span><br /> + It summarizes things so well;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">It has the philosophic ring.</span><br /> + Has Kant or Hegel more to tell?<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“There’s always some dam thing.”</span></p> + +<p> + The dean of all the cheer-up school<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Adjures sad hearts to cease repining,</span><br /> + And intimates that, as a rule,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sun behind the cloud is shining.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Into each life——” You know the rest;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">No need to finish out the string.</span><br /> + Longfellow boiled might be expressed,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“There’s always some dam thing.”</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> + When things go wrong I do not read<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The cheer-up poets, great or lesser.</span><br /> + To soothe my soul I do not need<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Neo-Thought of Mr. Dresser.</span><br /> + Sufficient for each working day,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">With all the worries it may bring,</span><br /> + That helpful line by Doctor J.,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“There’s always some dam thing.”</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE MODERN MARINER</strong></p> + + +<p> + A dry sheet and a lazy sea,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a wind so far from fast</span><br /> + It barely floats the owner’s flag<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That flutters at the mast—</span><br /> + That flutters at the mast, my boys;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">So while the sky is free</span><br /> + Of cloud we’ll take a yachtsman’s chance<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And venture out to sea.</span></p> + +<p> + The aneroid has dropped a tenth!<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Back, back across the bar</span><br /> + To a harbor snug, and a long cold drink,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And a big fat black cigar—</span><br /> + A big fat black cigar, my boys;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">While, on an even keel,</span><br /> + The Swedish chef out-chefs himself<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In getting up a meal.</span></p> + +<p> + Give me a soft and gentle wind,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A fleckless azure sky;</span><br /> + I care not for your “snoring breeze”<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And dinners heaving high—</span><br /> + And dinners heaving high, my boys,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Make no great hit with me;</span><br /> + So when the breeze begins to snore<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">We’ll not put out to sea.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> + There’s laughter in yon beach hotel,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And summer girls a crowd;</span><br /> + And hark the music, mariners,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The band is piping loud!</span><br /> + The band is piping loud, my boys,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bright eyes are flashing free.</span><br /> + Come, fly the owner’s-absent flag<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And join the revelry.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A BALLADE OF THE CANNERY</strong></p> + + +<p> + What of the phrases, long decayed,<br /> + Of paleologic pedigree,<br /> + Musty, moldy, frazzled, and frayed—<br /> + A doddering, dusty company?<br /> + What shall be done with them? say we;<br /> + And east and west the people bawl,<br /> + Dump them into the Cannery!—<br /> + Into the brine go one and all.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Grilled” and “lauded” and “scored” and “flayed,”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Common or garden variety,”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Wave of crime” and “reform crusade,”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Along these lines” and “it seems to me,”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Noted savant,” “I fail to see,”</span><br /> + The “groaning board” of the “banquet hall,”—<br /> + Masonjar ’em in “ghoulish glee”—<br /> + Into the brine go one and all.</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Succulent bivalves,” “trusty blade,”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Last analysis,” “practical-ly,”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Lone highwayman” and “fusillade,”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Millionaire broker and clubman,” “gee!”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“In reply to yours,” “can such things be?”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Sounded the keynote” or “trumpet call,”—</span><br /> + Can ’em, pickle ’em, one, two, three—<br /> + Into the brine go one and all.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><em>L’Envoi</em></span></p> + +<p> + Under the spreading chestnut tree<br /> + Stands the Cannery, all too small.<br /> + The Canner a briny man is he,<br /> + And into the brine go one and all.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>PANDEAN PIPEDREAMS</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>Induced by smoking “Pagan Pickings.”</em>)</span></p> + + +<p style="margin-left: 5em;"><strong>I</strong></p> + +<p> +<em>This is something that I heard,</em><br /> +<em>As the fluting of a bird,</em><br /> +<em>On a certain drowsy day,</em><br /> +<em>When my pipe was under way.</em><br /> +<em>I was weary of the town,</em><br /> +<em>And the going up and down;</em><br /> +<em>Sick of streets and sick of noise,—</em><br /> +<em>And I pined for Pagan joys.</em></p> + +<p> + Daphne, here it is July!<br /> + Just the month, my love, to fly<br /> + To a sylvan solitude<br /> + In the green and ancient wood.<br /> + We will trip it as we go<br /> + On the neo-Pagan toe,<br /> + Sunny days and starry nights,<br /> + Savoring the wild delights<br /> + Of a turbulent desire<br /> + That may set the wood on fire.</p> + +<p> + We will play at hunt-the-fawn,<br /> + In the neo-Dorian dawn.<br /> + You will scamper through the brake,<br /> + And I’ll follow in your wake—</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> + As the young Apollo ran<br /> + In the piping days of Pan.<br /> + You’ll escape me, without doubt,<br /> + For I’m just a trifle stout;<br /> + But, when I have lagged behind,<br /> + Waiting for my second wynde,<br /> + From some pretty hiding-place<br /> + Will emerge your laughing face;<br /> + I shall glimpse your eyes of blue,<br /> + Hear your merry “Peek-a-boo!”</p> + +<p> + What to wear? The Pagan plan<br /> + Contemplates a coat of tan;<br /> + But I fear we shall require<br /> + Just a trifle more attire.<br /> + Bushes scratch and brambles sting;<br /> + Insect myriads are a-wing;—<br /> + Heavens, how mosquitoes swarm<br /> + When the woodland air is warm.<br /> + (<span class="smcap">Mem</span>: To take, when we elope,<br /> + Tanglewood Mosquito Dope.)</p> + +<p> + Do you like the picture, dear?<br /> + Have you aught of doubt or fear?<br /> + Have you any criticism<br /> + Of my neo-Paganism?<br /> + If not, dearie, let us fly<br /> + To that passion-ripening sky,<br /> + Where our souls may have their fling,<br /> + And our every care take wing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +<em>So the bird song fluted by,</em><br /> +<em>Like a vagrant summer sigh—</em><br /> +<em>Came, and passed, and was no more;</em><br /> +<em>And my pleasant dream was o’er.</em><br /> +<em>For arose the wraith of Doubt;</em><br /> +<em>And I knew my pipe was out.</em></p> + + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><strong>II</strong></span></p> + +<p> +<em>This is something that befell</em><br /> +<em>When my pipe was drawing well—</em><br /> +<em>Something, rather, that I heard</em><br /> +<em>As the fluting of a bird.</em></p> + +<p> + Daphne, come and live with me<br /> + In a Pagan greenery.<br /> + Life will then be naught but play,<br /> + One long Pagan holiday.<br /> + We will play at hide and seek<br /> + In the alders by the creek;<br /> + Sport amid the cascade’s smother.<br /> + Splashing water at each other;—<br /> + Every moment pleasure wooing,<br /> + Every moment something doing.<br /> + If we talk, we’ll talk of Love:<br /> + All its arguments we’ll prove.<br /> + Such a mental rest you’ll find.<br /> + Leave your intellect behind.</p> + +<p> + Night will come, (for come it will,<br /> + ’Spite the fluting on the hill,)<br /> + And we’ll pitch a cozy camp<br /> + Where it isn’t quite so damp.<br /> + While you dry your hair and laze<br /> + By the campfire’s violet blaze,<br /> + I will rob a balsam tree<br /> + To construct a house for thee.<br /> + What so dear as to be wooed<br /> + In a sylvan solitude?</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> + What so sweet as Pagan vows<br /> + Whispered in a house of boughs?<br /> + Pagan love’s without alloy.<br /> + Pagan kisses never cloy.<br /> + Arms that cling in Pagan fashion<br /> + Never tire. A Pagan passion<br /> + Is the only kind I know<br /> + That outlives a winter’s snow.<br /> + Daphne, Daphne, let us fly!<br /> + You’re a Pagan—so am I.</p> + +<p> +<em>So the fluting on the hill</em><br /> +<em>Passed and died, and all was still.</em><br /> +<em>So the Pagan Pickings died,</em><br /> +<em>And I laid the pipe aside.</em></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE LAUNDRY OF LIFE</strong></p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>An Adventure in Sentiment.</em>)</span></p> + + +<p> + Life is a laundry in which we<br /> + Are ironed out, or soon or late.<br /> + Who has not known the irony<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of fate?</span></p> + +<p> + We enter it when we are born,<br /> + Our colors bright. Full soon they fade.<br /> + We leave it “done up,” old and worn,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">And frayed;</span></p> + +<p> + Frayed round the edges, worn and thin—<br /> + Life is a rough old linen slinger.<br /> + Who has not lost a button in<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Life’s wringer?</span></p> + +<p> + With other linen we are tubbed,<br /> + With other linen often tangled;<br /> + In open court we then are scrubbed,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">And mangled.</span></p> + +<p> + Some take a gloss of happiness<br /> + The hardest wear can not diminish;<br /> + Others, alas! get a “domes-<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Tic finish.”</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>WISDOM IN A CAPSULE</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 3em;"> +“<em>If she be not so to me.</em><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .5em;"><em>What care I how fair she be?</em>”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;" class="smcap">—The Shepherd’s Resolution.</span></p> + + +<p> + Here we have in this truism<br /> + Mr. James’s pragmatism.<br /> + Test your troubles day by day<br /> + With it, and they fly away.<br /> + Is the weather boiling hot,<br /> + Hot enough to boil a pot—<br /> + If it be not so to me,<br /> + What care I how hot it be?</p> + +<p> + Take a pudding made of bread;<br /> + Much against it has been said;<br /> + But it does not lack defense—<br /> + Many say it is immense.<br /> + Be it damned or be it blessed,<br /> + Let us make the acid test—<br /> + If it be not so to me,<br /> + What care I how good it be?</p> + +<p> + So with every blooming thing<br /> + That has power to soothe or sting;<br /> + Ships or shoes or sealing wax,<br /> + Carrots, comets, carpet tacks.<br /> + Every philosophic need<br /> + Covered by this capsule creed:<br /> + If it be not so to me,<br /> + What care I how <img src="images/goodbad.jpg" width="41" height="25" alt="good bad" title="" /> it be?</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE LAND OF RAINBOW’S-END</strong></p> + + +<p> + Young Faintheart lay on a wayside bank,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Full prey to doubts and fears,</span><br /> + When he did espy come trudging by<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A Pilgrim bent with years.</span><br /> + His back was bowed and his step was slow,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But his faith no years could bend,</span><br /> + As he eagerly pressed to the rose-lit west<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Land of Rainbow’s-End.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“<em>It’s ho, for a pack!” sang the Pilgrim gray,</em></span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“<em>And a stout oak staff for friend,</em></span><br /> +<em>And it’s over the hills and far away</em><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>To the Land of Rainbow’s-End!</em>”</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Thou’rt old,” young Faintheart cried, “thou’rt old,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And there’s many a league to go;</span><br /> + And still thou seekest the pot of gold<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">At the farther end of the bow.”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I am old, I am old,” said the Pilgrim gray,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“But ever my way I’ll wend</span><br /> + To the rose-lit hills of the dying day<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the Land of Rainbow’s-End.”</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Come, rest thee, rest thee by my side;</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Give o’er thy doomsday quest.”</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Have done, have done!” the Pilgrim cried:</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“The light wanes in the west.</span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span><br /> + The road is long, but I shall not tire;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I will lay my bones, God send,</span><br /> + By the beautiful City of Heart’s Desire,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In the Land of Rainbow’s-End.”</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“<em>Then it’s ho, for a pack!” sang the Pilgrim gray,</em></span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“<em>And a stout oak staff for friend,</em></span><br /> +<em>And it’s over the hills and far away</em><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>To the Land of Rainbow’s-End.</em>”</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>A BALLADE OF A BORE</strong></p> + + +<p> + When the weather is warm and the glass running high<br /> + And the odors of Araby tincture the air;<br /> + When the sun is aloft in a white and blue sky,<br /> + And the morrow holds promise of falling as fair;—<br /> + In spring or in summer I’m free to declare,<br /> + And the same I am equally free to maintain,<br /> + One person has power my peace to impair:<br /> + The man who tells limericks gives me a pain.</p> + +<p> + When the foliage flushes and summer is by,<br /> + And russet and red are the popular wear;<br /> + When the song of the woodland is changed to a sigh<br /> + And the horn of the hunter is heard by the hare;—<br /> + In the season of autumn I’m free to declare,<br /> + And my language is lucid and simple and plain,<br /> + One person’s acquaintance I freely forswear:<br /> + The man with the limerick gives me a pain.</p> + +<p> + When the landscape is iced and the snow feathers fly,<br /> + When the fields are all bald and the trees are all bare,<br /> + And the prospect which nature presents to the eye<br /> + Is chiefly distinguished by glitter and glare;—<br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> + In the season of winter I’m free to declare<br /> + That the limerick person is flat and inane.<br /> + This person, I think, we could easily spare:<br /> + The man who tells limericks gives me a pain.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><em>L’Envoi</em></span></p> + +<p> + From New Year to Christmas I’m free to declare<br /> + That, for ways that are dull and for verse that is vain,<br /> + One bore is peculiar—and not at all rare:<br /> + The man with the limerick gives me a pain.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE POLE</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>Tune</em>: “<em>Carcassonne.</em>”)</p> + + +<p> + I’m an old man, I’m eighty-three,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I seldom get away;</span><br /> + My work, it keeps me close at home—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have no time for play.</span><br /> + If it were not for the journey back,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That so fatigues a soul,</span><br /> + I’d like to take a little trip—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I never have seen the Pole.</span></p> + +<p> + ’Tis said that in that favored place<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">There is no heat or drouth;</span><br /> + And that, whichever way you turn,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You’re looking south-by-south.</span><br /> + Some say there is a flagstaff there,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some say there is a hole.</span><br /> + Think of the years that I have lived<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And never have seen the Pole!</span></p> + +<p> + The parson a hundred times is right—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">We ought to stay at home.</span><br /> + I’m an old man, I’m eighty-three,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I have no call to roam.</span><br /> + And yet if I could somehow find<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The time—God bless my soul!—</span><br /> + I think that I would die content<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">If I only could see the Pole!</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> + My brother has seen Baraboo,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">If so he speak the truth;</span><br /> + My wife and son they both have been<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As far as to Duluth;</span><br /> + My cousin cruised to Eastport, Maine,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">On a ship that carried coal;</span><br /> + I’ve been as far as Mackinac—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">But I never have seen the Pole!</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>SH-H-H-H!</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 3em;"> +“<em>Mr. Mabie is now reading the summer books.</em>”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;" class="smcap">—The Ladies’ Home Journal.</span></p> + + +<p> + What shall we buy for a summer’s day?<br /> + What is good reading and what is not?<br /> + Mabie will tell us—we wait his say;<br /> + For Mabie alone can know what’s what.<br /> + Meanwhile the world is as still as death;<br /> + Mute inquiry is in men’s looks;<br /> + Everybody is holding his breath—<br /> + Mabie is reading the summer books.</p> + +<p> + The suns are at pause in the cosmic race;<br /> + The mills of the gods have ceased to grind;<br /> + The only sound that is heard in space<br /> + Is the rhythmic clicking of Mabie’s mind.<br /> + Elsewhere silence, or near or far—<br /> + Chattering Pleiads or babbling brooks;<br /> + For the whisper has passed from star to star:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Mabie is reading the summer books.”</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE VANISHED FAY</strong></p> + + +<p> + Tell me, whither do they go,<br /> + All the Little Ones we know?<br /> + They “grow up” before our eyes,<br /> + And the fairy spirit flies.<br /> + Time the Piper, pied and gay—<br /> + Does he lure them all away?<br /> + Do they follow after him,<br /> + Over the horizon’s brim?</p> + +<p> + Daughter’s growing fair to see,<br /> + Slim and straight as popple tree.<br /> + Still a child in heart and head,<br /> + But—the fairy spirit’s fled.<br /> + As a fay at break of day,<br /> + Little One has flown away,<br /> + On the stroke of fairy bell—<br /> + When and whither, who can tell?</p> + +<p> + Still her childish fancies weave<br /> + In the Land of Make Believe;<br /> + And her love of magic lore<br /> + Is as avid as before.<br /> + Dollies big and dollies small<br /> + Still are at her beck and call.<br /> + But for all this pleasant play,<br /> + Little One has gone away.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> + Whither, whither have they flown,<br /> + All the fays we all have known?<br /> + To what “faery lands forlorn”<br /> + On the sound of elfin horn?<br /> + As she were a woodland sprite,<br /> + Little One has vanished quite.<br /> + Waves the wand of Oberon:<br /> + Cock has crowed—the fay is gone!</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>AUTUMN REVERY</strong></p> + + +<p> + When the leaves are falling crimson<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the worm is off its feed,</span><br /> + When the rag weed and the jimson<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have agreed to go to seed,</span><br /> + When the air in forest bowers<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Has a tang like Rhenish wine,</span><br /> + And to breathe it for two hours<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Makes you feel you’d like to dine,</span><br /> + When the frost is on the pumpkin<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the corn is in the shock,</span><br /> + And the cheek of country bumpkin<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">City faces seems to mock,—</span><br /> + When you come across a ditty<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">(Like this one) of Autumn’s charm,</span><br /> + Then it’s pleasant in the city,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where they keep the houses warm.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE RECOIL</strong></p> + + +<p> + I met a friend of lofty brow—<br /> + As lofty as the laws allow.<br /> + I said to him, “You’ll know, I’m sure—<br /> + What’s doing now in litrychoor?”<br /> + Said he: “I hate the very name;<br /> + I’m weary of the blooming game.<br /> + I read, whenever I have time,<br /> + Something by Phillips Oppenheim.”</p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Cheer up!” said I. “What’s new in Art?—</span><br /> + You drift around the picture mart.<br /> + What do you think of Mr. Blum?—<br /> + Some say he’s great, some say he’s bum.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I’m strong for Blum,” my friend replied;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“His pictures are so queer and pied.</span><br /> + I wouldn’t change them if I could;<br /> + I’d rather have things queer than good.”</p> + +<p> + I spoke of this, I spoke of that,<br /> + But everything was stale and flat.<br /> + Said I, “You once adored the chaste,<br /> + You used to have such perfect taste.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Good taste,” he wailed, “brings but distress,</span><br /> + ’Tis an affliction, nothing less;<br /> + While those whose taste is punk and vile<br /> + Are happy all the blessed while.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Oh, take a brace, old man!” said I.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Let me prescribe a nip of rye,</span><br /> + And then we’ll go to see a play;<br /> + I’ve two for Barrymore to-day.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“No, no,” he groaned; “’twould be a bore,</span><br /> + With all respect to Barrymore.”<br /> + Said I: “Then whither shall we go?”<br /> + Said he: “A moving picture show.”</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE CORONATION</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 4em;"><em>Lang Syne.</em></p> + + +<p> + Twas a holy mystery<br /> + In the days of chivalry.<br /> + More than pageant was the Rite<br /> + In the sight of clod and knight.<br /> + Sword and Scepter, Orb and Rod,<br /> + Faith in self and faith in God;<br /> + Oaths of Homage fiercely flung,<br /> + Faith in heart and faith in tongue;—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gone the things that meaning gave</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“With the old world to the grave.”</span></p> + +<p> </p> +<p style="margin-left: 4em;">1911.</p> + +<p> + Knightly faith was born to fade:<br /> + Now the Rite is masquerade.<br /> + Now a cockney paladin<br /> + Winds a penny horn of tin.<br /> + Where in reverence heads were bowed<br /> + Surges now a careless crowd;<br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Muddied oafs” and “flanneled fools”</span><br /> + Jostle “Yanks” with camping stools;—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gone the things that meaning gave</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: .7em;">“With the old world to the grave.”</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>SONS OF BATTLE</strong></p> + + +<p> + Let us have peace, and Thy blessing,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord of the Wind and the Rain,</span><br /> + When we shall cease from oppressing,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">From all injustice refrain;</span><br /> + When we hate falsehood and spurn it;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When we are men among men.</span><br /> + Let us have peace when we earn it—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never an hour till then.</span></p> + +<p> + Let us have rest in Thy garden,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord of the Rock and the Green,</span><br /> + When there is nothing to pardon,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When we are whitened and clean.</span><br /> + Purge us of skulking and treason,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Help us to put them away.</span><br /> + We shall have rest in Thy season;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till then the heat of the fray.</span></p> + +<p> + Let us have peace in Thy pleasure,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lord of the Cloud and the Sun;</span><br /> + Grant to us æons of leisure<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When the long battle is done.</span><br /> + Now we have only begun it;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stead us!—we ask nothing more.</span><br /> + Peace—rest—but not till we’ve won it—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Never an hour before.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>MY LADY NEW YORK</strong></p> + + +<p> + O siren of tresses peroxide,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And heart that is hard as a flint,</span><br /> + Blue orbs of complacency ox-eyed,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That light at the mark of the mint,</span><br /> + Ears only for jingle of joybells,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A conscience as light as a cork—</span><br /> + You are wedded to follies and foibles,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">My Lady New York.</span></p> + +<p> + True, you have (not enough, tho’, to hurt you)<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your moods and your manners austere;</span><br /> + You have visions and vapors of virtue,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And “reform” for a time has your ear;</span><br /> + But of chaste Puritanic embraces<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You soon have enough and to spare,</span><br /> + And then you kick over the traces,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And virtue forswear.</span></p> + +<p> + So go it, milady! Foot fleetly<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The paths that are primrose and gay;</span><br /> + Abandon your fancy completely<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To follies and fads of the day.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Reform” is a something that throttles</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The joys of the pace that’s intense—</span><br /> + Smash hearts, reputations, and bottles,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ding the expense!</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>BALLADE OF THE PIPESMOKE CARRY</strong></p> + + +<p> + The Ancient Wood is white and still,<br /> + Over the pines the bleak wind blows,<br /> + Voiceless the brook and mute the rill,<br /> + Silence too where the river flows.<br /> + Still I catch the scent of the rose<br /> + And hear the white-throat’s roundelay,<br /> + Footing the trail that Memory knows,<br /> + Over the hills and far away.</p> + +<p> + I have only a pipe to fill:<br /> + Weaving, wreathing rings disclose<br /> + A trail that flings straight up the hill,<br /> + Straight as an arrow’s flight. For those<br /> + Who fare by night the pole star glows<br /> + Above the mountain top. By day<br /> + A blasted pine the pathway shows<br /> + Over the hills and far away.</p> + +<p> + The Ancient Wood is white and chill,<br /> + But what know I of wintry woes?<br /> + The Pipesmoke Trail is mine at will—<br /> + Naught may hinder and none oppose.<br /> + Such the power the pipe bestows,<br /> + When the wilderness calls I may<br /> + Tramping go, as I smoke and doze,<br /> + Over the hills and far away.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;"><em>L’Envoi</em></span></p> + +<p> + Deep in the canyons lie the snows:<br /> + They shall vanish if I but say—<br /> + If my fancy a-roving goes<br /> + Over the hills and far away.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>POST-VACATIONAL</strong></p> + + +<p> + You have heard that mildewed story,<br /> + That tradition horned and hoary,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That it wearies one to roam,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Past a doubt;</span><br /> + That one vainly on vacation<br /> + Tries to find recuperation,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Till he hunts his happy home</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tuckered out.</span></p> + +<p> + That abroad there is no comfort,<br /> + That a man must journey home for ’t—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You have heard that whiskered wheeze,</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Have you not?</span><br /> + ’Tis a commonplace to cavil<br /> + At the “luxuries of travel,”<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">For in travel lack of ease</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is your lot.</span></p> + +<p> + You have heard that gag historic;<br /> + It was often sprung by Yorick;<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">It’s as old as Noah’s ark</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">And its crew.</span><br /> + It’s the commonest (at basis)<br /> + Of all common commonplaces;—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">So I merely would remark</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 3em;">That—it’s true.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE BARDS WE QUOTE</strong></p> + + +<p> + Whene’er I quote I seldom take<br /> + From bards whom angel hosts environ;<br /> + But usually some damned rake<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Like Byron.</span></p> + +<p> + Of Whittier I think a lot,<br /> + My fancy to him often turns;<br /> + But when I quote ’tis some such sot<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">As Burns.</span></p> + +<p> + I’m very fond of Bryant, too,<br /> + He brings to me the woodland smelly;<br /> + Why should I quote that “village roo,”<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">P. Shelley?</span></p> + +<p> + I think Felicia Hemans great,<br /> + I dote upon Jean Ingelow;<br /> + Yet quote from such a reprobate<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">As Poe.</span></p> + +<p> + To quote from drunkard or from rake<br /> + Is not a proper thing to do.<br /> + I find the habit hard to break,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 4em;">Don’t you?</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE PERSISTENT POET</strong></p> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“I remember, I remember”—</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Something special? Not a bit.</span><br /> + But, you see, this is November,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Remember rimes with it.</span></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>HENCE THESE RIMES</strong></p> + + +<p> + Tho’ my verse is exact,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tho’ it flawlessly flows,</span><br /> + As a matter of fact<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I would rather write prose.</span></p> + +<p> + While my harp is in tune,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I sing like the birds,</span><br /> + I would really as soon<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Write in straightaway words.</span></p> + +<p> + Tho’ my songs are as sweet<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As Apollo e’er piped,</span><br /> + And my lines are as neat<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">As have ever been typed,</span></p> + +<p> + I would rather write prose—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I prefer it to rime;</span><br /> + It’s less hard to compose,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And it takes me less time.</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Well, if that be the case,”</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">You are moved to inquire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“Why appropriate space</span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">For extolling your lyre?”</span></p> + +<p> + I can only reply<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That this form I elect</span><br /> + ’Cause it pleases the eye,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And I like the effect.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE OLD ROLLER TOWEL</strong></p> + + +<p> + How dear to this heart is the old roller towel<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Which fond recollection presents to my view.</span><br /> + It hung like a pall on the wall of the washroom,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And gathered the grime of the linotype crew.</span><br /> + The sink and the soap and the lye that stood by it<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Remain; but the towel is gone past recall.</span><br /> + O tempora! Also, O mores! Sic transit<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The time-honored towel that creaked on the wall.</span><br /> + The grimy old towel, the slimy old towel,<br /> + The tacky old towel that hung on the wall.</p> + +<p> + Now hangs in the washroom a huge roll of paper—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The old printer’s towel we’ll never see more.</span><br /> + The new (see directions) is “used like a blotter,”<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And crumpled and scattered in wads on the floor.</span><br /> + And often, when drying my hands in this fashion,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The tears of remembrance will gather and fall,</span><br /> + And I sigh (though I’m not what you’d call sentimental)<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">For the classic old towel that propped up the wall.</span><br /> + The sainted old towel, the tainted old towel,<br /> + The gooey old towel that hung on the wall.</p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>UP CULTURE’S HILL</strong></p> + +<p style="margin-left: 3em;">(<em>The confession of a club lady.</em>)</p> + + +<p> + The path up Culture’s Hill is steep,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And weary is the way,</span><br /> + With very little time for sleep<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And none at all for play.</span></p> + +<p> + She that this toilsome task essays<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Must never bat an eye,</span><br /> + But keep her firm, unwavering gaze<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forever fixed on high.</span></p> + +<p> + For should she ever careless grow,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And let her glances stray</span><br /> + Down to the shallow vale below,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where Pleasure’s Court holds sway—</span></p> + +<p> + Lured by the thrice forbidden fruit,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">She’d lose her equipoise,</span><br /> + And like a wayward Pleiad shoot<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Down to forbidden joys.</span></p> + +<p> + I’ve been but short time on the road,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">My courage still is strong;</span><br /> + Yet often have I felt the goad<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">That hurries me along.</span></p> + +<p> + I’ve fallen over Maeterlinck,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And bumped myself to tears,</span><br /> + Burne-Jones’s pictures made me blink,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And Wagner hurts my ears.</span></p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> + I’ve stumbled over Ibsen humps<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And over Rembrandt rocks,</span><br /> + I’ve got some fierce Debussy bumps,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Some awful Nietsche knocks.</span></p> + +<p> + I’m wearied by the ceaseless quest,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I’m wayworn and footsore.</span><br /> + I’ve Culture till I cannot rest—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet still I climb for more.</span></p> + +<p> + But oh, when all is done and said,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon some manly breast</span><br /> + I’d like to lay my tired head<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And take a good long rest.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p> +<p><strong>THE PASSIONAL NOTE</strong></p> + +<p>“<em>The erotic motive is almost entirely absent from American +poetry. Even our younger American poets are more +profoundly interested in the why and wherefore of things +than in the girdle of Helen or the gleaming limbs of ‘the +white implacable Aphrodite.’</em>”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 15em;" class="smcap">—Mr. Sylvester Viereck.</span></p> + + +<p> + In the years of my season erotic,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">When Eros was lord of my days,</span><br /> + And I loved, with a love idiotic,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Mabels and Madges and Mays;</span><br /> + When a purple and passionate lyric<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Would sing all the night in my head,—</span><br /> + I yearned, like the young Mr. Viereck,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">For everything red.</span></p> + +<p> + I doted on poems of passion,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And put my own pantings in rime,</span><br /> + To celebrate, after a fashion,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The damsels who took up my time.</span><br /> + I fed upon Swinburne, believe me,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">I feasted on Byron and Burns,</span><br /> + And couplets from Sappho would give me<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Most exquisite turns.</span></p> + +<p> + How apparent it was that our songbirds—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our Emerson, Lowell, and Payne,</span><br /> + And Bryant and Drake—were the wrong birds<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">To pipe to the passional strain.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> + There was, in a word, nothing doing<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">In all of the rimes that they wrote;</span><br /> + They seemed to be always pursuing<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The ethical note.</span></p> + +<p> + What truth, I inquired, was so mighty,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">What ethical thing was so rare,</span><br /> + As the limbs of the white Aphrodite<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or a strand of her heaven-kissed hair!</span><br /> + The girdle of red-headed Helen<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Outweighed all the wherefores and whys,</span><br /> + And Wisdom elected to dwell in<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">A pair of blue eyes.</span></p> + +<p> +<em>Now</em> lyrical sizzlers and scorchers<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fail somehow to set me ablaze;</span><br /> + No longer are exquisite tortures<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">Provoked by these passionate lays.</span><br /> + I’ve tinned—and I can’t say I’ve missed ’em—<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">The poems of passion and sin.</span><br /> +<em>Some</em> things one gets out of one’s system,<br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;">And other things <em>in</em>.</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p> +<p><strong><em>L’ENVOI.</em></strong></p> + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: -.3em;">“<em>Go, little book,” as Poet Southey said;</em></span><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>You might be better and you might be worse.</em></span><br /> + <em>With just one word of warning you are sped:</em><br /> + <span style="margin-left: 1em;"><em>Remember, you’re not Poetry—you’re Verse.</em></span></p> + +</div> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> +<h2>Index</h2> + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> + +<tr> <td align='left'>Always</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Autumn Revery</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_104">104</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballad of Misfits</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballade of a Bore</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballade of the Cannery</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballade of Cap and Bells</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballade of Death and Time</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballade of Irresolution</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballade of the Pipesmoke Carry</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballade of Spring’s Unrest</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Ballade of Wool-Gathering</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Bards We Quote, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Bread Puddynge</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_42">42</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Breakfast Food Family, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Coronation, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Day of the Comet, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Dinosaur, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Dornröschen</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>“Farewell”</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Gentle Doctor Brown</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Hence These Rimes</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Horace: A Note from Mr. Flaccus</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.5em;">I. To Aristius Fuscus</span></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.3em;">II. Duetto</span></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">III. To Pyrrha</span></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1em;">IV. To Aristius Fuscus</span></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 1.3em;">V. To Sylvia</span></td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>How They Might Have Brought the Good News</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>In the Gallery</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>In the Lamplight</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Kaiser’s Farewell, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Land of Rainbow’s-End, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Laundry of Life, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Lay of St. Ambrose</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Miss Legion</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Modern Mariner, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Morning After, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Musca Domestica</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>My Lady New York</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Old Roller Towel, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Oriental Apology, An</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Pandean Pipedreams</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Passional Note, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Passionate Professor, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_47">47</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Persistent Poet, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_114">114</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Pole, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Post-Vacational</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Recoil, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Reform in Our Town</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Rime of the Clark Street Cable</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Sh-h-h-h!</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_101">101</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Simple, Heartfelt Lay, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Sons of Battle</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_108">108</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>To a Tall Spruce</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>To Lillian Russell</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>To the Sun</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>To What Base Uses</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>“Treasure Island”</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Up Culture’s Hill</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Vanished Fay, The</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_102">102</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>When It Is Hot</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>When the Sirup’s on the Flapjack</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Why?</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td> </tr> +<tr> <td align='left'>Wisdom in a Capsule</td> <td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td> </tr> + +</table></div> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 30038 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/30038-h/images/deco_tpage.png b/30038-h/images/deco_tpage.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..31c9b85 --- /dev/null +++ b/30038-h/images/deco_tpage.png diff --git a/30038-h/images/goodbad.jpg b/30038-h/images/goodbad.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..33cde48 --- /dev/null +++ b/30038-h/images/goodbad.jpg diff --git a/30038-h/images/imgcover.jpg b/30038-h/images/imgcover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3498dba --- /dev/null +++ b/30038-h/images/imgcover.jpg |
