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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Something Else Again, by Franklin P. Adams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Something Else Again
+
+Author: Franklin P. Adams
+
+Release Date: October 7, 2008 [EBook #26797]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOMETHING ELSE AGAIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SOMETHING
+ELSE AGAIN
+
+_By_
+
+FRANKLIN P. ADAMS
+
+_Author of_
+"_By and Large_," "_In Other Words_,"
+"_Tobogganing on Parnassus_,"
+"_Weights and Measures_,"
+_Etc._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+GARDEN CITY   NEW YORK   LONDON
+1920
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1920.
+
+DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
+TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
+INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
+
+
+
+
+To MONTAGUE GLASS
+
+
+
+
+ACKNOWLEDGMENT
+
+
+The author wishes to thank the _New York Tribune_,
+_Life_, _Harper's Magazine_, _Collier's Weekly_, and _The Home
+Sector_, for their kind permission to include in this
+volume material which has appeared in their pages.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+Present Imperative                                                   3
+
+The Doughboy's Horace                                                5
+
+From: Horace To: Phyllis                                             7
+
+Advising Chloë                                                       8
+
+To an Aged Cut-up I                                                  9
+
+                  II                                                10
+
+His Monument                                                        11
+
+Glycera Rediviva!                                                   12
+
+On a Wine of Horace's                                               13
+
+"What Flavour?"                                                     14
+
+The Stalling of Q. H. F.                                            15
+
+On the Flight of Time                                               16
+
+The Last Laugh                                                      17
+
+Again Endorsing the Lady I                                          19
+
+                         II                                         20
+
+Propertius's Bid for Immortality                                    21
+
+A Lament                                                            23
+
+Bon Voyage--and Vice Versa                                          24
+
+Fragment                                                            25
+
+On the Uses of Adversity                                            26
+
+After Hearing "Robin Hood"                                          27
+
+Maud Muller Mutatur                                                 28
+
+The Carlyles                                                        31
+
+If Amy Lowell Had Been James Whitcomb Riley                         35
+
+If the Advertising Man Had Been Gilbert                             37
+
+If the Advertising Man Had Been Praed, or Locker                    39
+
+Georgie Porgie                                                      40
+
+On First Looking into Bee Palmer's Shoulders                        41
+
+To a Vers Librist                                                   43
+
+How Do You Tackle Your Work?                                        45
+
+Recuerdo                                                            48
+
+On Tradition                                                        51
+
+Unshackled Thoughts on Chivalry, Romance, Adventure, Etc.           52
+
+Results Ridiculous                                                  53
+
+Regarding (1) the U. S. and (2) New York                            54
+
+Broadmindedness                                                     55
+
+The Jazzy Bard                                                      56
+
+Lines on and from "Bartlett's Familiar Quotations"                  57
+
+Thoughts in a Far Country                                           58
+
+When You Meet a Man from Your Own Home Town                         59
+
+The Shepherd's Resolution                                           61
+
+"It Was a Famous Victory"                                           62
+
+On Profiteering                                                     63
+
+Despite                                                             64
+
+The Return of the Soldier                                           65
+
+"I Remember, I Remember"                                            66
+
+The Higher Education                                                68
+
+War and Peace                                                       69
+
+Fifty-Fifty                                                         70
+
+"So Shines a Good Deed in a Naughty World"                          71
+
+Vain Words                                                          72
+
+On the Importance of Being Earnest                                  73
+
+It Happens in the B. R. Families                                    74
+
+Abelard and Heloïse                                                 77
+
+Lines Written on the Sunny Side of Frankfort Street                 79
+
+Fifty-Fifty                                                         80
+
+To Myrtilla                                                         81
+
+A Psalm of Labouring Life                                           82
+
+Ballade of Ancient Acts                                             84
+
+To a Prospective Cook                                               85
+
+Variation on a Theme                                                86
+
+"Such Stuff as Dreams"                                              88
+
+The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide                                  89
+
+The Ballad of the Murdered Merchant                                 90
+
+A Gotham Garden of Verses                                           92
+
+Lines on Reading Frank J. Wilstach's "A Dictionary of Similes"      94
+
+The Dictaphone Bard                                                 95
+
+The Comfort of Obscurity                                            97
+
+Ballade of the Traffickers                                          98
+
+To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing The Conning Tower             100
+
+To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming The Conning Tower                  103
+
+Thoughts on the Cosmos                                             105
+
+On Environment                                                     106
+
+The Ballad of the Thoughtless Waiter                               107
+
+Rus Vs. Urbs                                                       109
+
+"I'm Out of the Army Now"                                          110
+
+"Oh Man!"                                                          112
+
+An Ode in Time of Inauguration                                     113
+
+What the Copy Desk Might Have Done                                 124
+
+Song of Synthetic Virility                                         133
+
+
+
+
+SOMETHING ELSE AGAIN
+
+
+
+
+Present Imperative
+
+Horace: Book I, Ode 11
+
+_"Tu ne quaesieris--scire nefas--quem mihi; quem tibi----"_
+
+AD LEUCONOEN
+
+
+Nay, query not, Leuconoë, the finish of the fable;
+Eliminate the worry as to what the years may hoard!
+You only waste your time upon the Babylonian Table--
+(Slang for the Ouija board).
+
+And as to whether Jupiter, the final, unsurpassed one,
+May add a lot of winters to our portion here below,
+Or this impinging season is to be our very last one--
+Really, I'd hate to know.
+
+Apply yourself to wisdom! Sweep the floor and wash the dishes,
+Nor dream about the things you'll do in 1928!
+My counsel is to cease to sit and yearn about your wishes,
+Cursing the throws of Fate.
+
+My! how I have been chattering on matters sad and pleasant!
+(Endure with me a moment while I polish off a rhyme).
+If I were you, I think, I'd bother only with the present--
+Now is the only time.
+
+
+
+
+The Doughboy's Horace
+
+Horace: Book III, Ode 9
+
+"Donec eram gratus tibi----"
+
+HORACE, PVT. ----TH INFANTRY, A. E. F., WRITES:
+
+
+While I was fussing you at home
+You put the notion in my dome
+That I was the Molasses Kid.
+I batted strong. I'll say I did.
+
+
+LYDIA, ANYBURG, U. S. A., WRITES:
+
+While you were fussing me alone
+To other boys my heart was stone.
+When I was all that you could see
+No girl had anything on me.
+
+
+HORACE:
+
+Well, say, I'm having some romance
+With one Babette, of Northern France.
+If that girl gave me the command
+I'd dance a jig in No Man's Land.
+
+
+LYDIA:
+
+I, too, have got a young affair
+With Charley--say, that boy is _there_!
+I'd just as soon go out and die
+If I thought it'd please that guy.
+
+
+HORACE:
+
+Suppose I can this foreign wren
+And start things up with you again?
+Suppose I promise to be good?
+I'd love you, Lyd. I'll say I would.
+
+
+LYDIA:
+
+Though Charley's good and handsome--_oh_, boy!
+And you're a stormy, fickle doughboy,
+Go give the Hun his final whack,
+And I'll marry you when you come back.
+
+
+
+
+From: Horace
+To: Phyllis
+Subject: Invitation
+
+Book IV, Ode 11
+
+"_Est mihi nonum superantis annum----_"
+
+
+Phyllis, I've a jar of wine,
+(Alban, B. C. 49),
+Parsley wreaths, and, for your tresses,
+Ivy that your beauty blesses.
+
+Shines my house with silverware;
+Frondage decks the altar stair--
+Sacred vervain, a device
+For a lambkin's sacrifice.
+
+Up and down the household stairs
+What a festival prepares!
+Everybody's superintending--
+See the sooty smoke ascending!
+
+What, you ask me, is the date
+Of the day we celebrate?
+13th April, month of Venus--
+Birthday of my boss, Mæcenas.
+
+Let me, Phyllis, say a word
+Touching Telephus, a bird
+Ranking far too high above you;
+(And the loafer doesn't love you).
+
+Lessons, Phyllie, may be learned
+From Phaëton--how he was burned!
+And recall Bellerophon was
+One equestrian who thrown was.
+
+Phyllis, of my loves the last,
+My philandering days are past.
+Sing you, in your clear contralto,
+Songs I write for the rialto.
+
+
+
+
+Advising Chloë
+
+Horace: Book I, Ode 23
+
+_"Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chloë----"_
+
+
+Why shun me, my Chloë? Nor pistol nor bowie
+  Is mine with intention to kill.
+And yet like a llama you run to your mamma;
+  You tremble as though you were ill.
+
+No lion to rend you, no tiger to end you,
+  I'm tame as a bird in a cage.
+That counsel maternal can run for _The Journal_--
+  You get me, I guess.... You're of age.
+
+
+
+
+To An Aged Cut-up
+
+Horace: Book III, Ode 15
+
+
+I
+
+"_Uxor pauperis Ibyci,
+    Tandem nequitiæ fige modum tuæ----_"
+
+IN CHLORIN
+
+Dear Mrs. Ibycus, accept a little sound advice,
+  Your manners and your speech are over-bold;
+To chase around the sporty way you do is far from nice;
+  Believe me, darling, you are growing old.
+
+Now Pholoë may fool around (she dances like a doe!)
+  A débutante has got to think of men;
+But you were twenty-seven over thirty years ago--
+  You ought to be asleep at half-past ten.
+
+O Chloris, cut the ragging and the roses and the rum--
+  Delete the drink, or better, chop the booze!
+Go buy a skein of yarn and make the knitting needles hum,
+  And imitate the art of Sister Suse.
+
+
+II
+
+Chloris, lay off the flapper stuff;
+What's fit for Pholoë, a fluff,
+Is not for Ibycus's wife--
+A woman at your time of life!
+
+Ignore, old dame, such pleasures as
+The shimmy and "the Bacchus Jazz";
+Your presence with the maidens jars--
+You are the cloud that dims the stars.
+
+Your daughter Pholoë may stay
+Out nights upon the Appian Way;
+Her love for Nothus, as you know,
+Makes her as playful as a doe.
+
+No jazz for you, no jars of wine,
+No rose that blooms incarnadine.
+For one thing only are you fit:
+Buy some Lucerian wool--and knit!
+
+
+
+
+His Monument
+
+Horace: Book III, Ode 30
+
+"_Exegi monumentum aere perennius----_"
+
+
+The monument that I have built is durable as brass,
+And loftier than the Pyramids which mock the years that pass.
+Nor blizzard can destroy it, nor furious rain corrode--
+Remember, I'm the bard that built the first Horatian ode.
+
+I shall not altogether die; a part of me's immortal.
+A part of me shall never pass the mortuary portal;
+And when I die my fame shall stand the nitric test of time--
+The fame of me of lowly birth, who built the lofty rhyme!
+
+Ay, fame shall be my portion when no trace there is of me,
+For I first made Æolian songs the songs of Italy.
+Accept I pray, Melpomene, my modest meed of praise,
+And crown my thinning, graying locks with wreaths of Delphic bays!
+
+
+
+
+Glycera Rediviva!
+
+Horace: Book I, Ode 19
+
+"_Mater sæva Cupidinum_"
+
+
+Venus, the cruel mother of
+The Cupids (symbolising Love),
+Bids me to muse upon and sigh
+For things to which I've said "Good-bye!"
+
+Believe me or believe me not,
+I give this Glycera girl a lot:
+Pure Parian marble are her arms--
+And she has eighty other charms.
+
+Venus has left her Cyprus home
+And will not let me pull a pome
+About the Parthians, fierce and rough,
+The Scythian war, and all that stuff.
+
+Set up, O slaves, a verdant shrine!
+Uncork a quart of last year's wine!
+Place incense here, and here verbenas,
+And watch me while I jolly Venus!
+
+
+
+
+On a Wine of Horace's
+
+
+What time I read your mighty line,
+  O Mr. Q. Horatius Flaccus,
+In praise of many an ancient wine--
+  You twanged a wicked lyre to Bacchus!--
+I wondered, like a Yankee hick,
+If that old stuff contained a kick.
+
+So when upon a Paris card
+  I glimpsed Falernian, I said: "Waiter,
+I'll emulate that ancient bard,
+  And pass upon his merits later."
+Professor Mendell, _quelque_ sport,
+Suggested that we split a quart.
+
+O Flaccus, ere I ceased to drink
+  Three glasses and a pair of highballs,
+I could not talk; I could not think;
+  For I was pickled to the eyeballs.
+If you sopped up Falernian wine
+How did you ever write a line?
+
+
+
+
+"What Flavour?"
+
+Horace: Book III, Ode 13
+
+_"O fons Bandusiæ, splendidior vitro----"_
+
+
+Worthy of flowers and syrups sweet,
+  O fountain of Bandusian onyx,
+To-morrow shall a goatling's bleat
+  Mix with the sizz of thy carbonics.
+
+A kid whose budding horns portend
+  A life of love and war--but vainly!
+For thee his sanguine life shall end--
+  He'll spill his blood, to put it plainly.
+
+And never shalt thou feel the heat
+  That blazes in the days of Sirius,
+But men shall quaff thy soda sweet,
+  And girls imbibe thy drinks delirious.
+
+Fountain whose dulcet cool I sing,
+  Be thou immortal by this Ode (a
+Not wholly meretricious thing),
+  Bandusian fount of ice-cream soda!
+
+
+
+
+The Stalling of Q. H. F.
+
+Horace: Epode 14
+
+_"Mollis inertia cur tantam diffuderit imis"_
+
+
+Mæcenas, you fret me, you worry me
+  Demanding I turn out a rhyme;
+Insisting on reasons, you hurry me;
+  You want my iambics on time.
+You say my ambition's diminishing;
+  You ask why my poem's not done.
+The god it is keeps me from finishing
+        The stuff I've begun.
+
+Be not so persistent, so clamorous.
+  Anacreon burned with a flame
+Candescently, crescently amorous.
+  You rascal, you're doing the same!
+Was no fairer the flame that burned Ilium.
+  Cheer up, you're a fortunate scamp,
+... Consider avuncular William
+        And Phryne, the vamp.
+
+
+
+
+On the Flight of Time
+
+Horace: Book I, Ode 2
+
+"_Tu ne quæsieris, scire nefas, quem mihi,
+quem tibi_"
+
+AD LEUCONOEN
+
+
+Look not, Leuconoë, into the future;
+  Seek not to find what the Answer may be;
+Let no Chaldean clairvoyant compute your
+  Time of existence.... It irritates me!
+
+Better to bear what may happen soever
+  Patiently, playing it through like a sport,
+Whether the end of your breathing is Never,
+  Or, as is likely, your time will be short.
+
+This is the angle, the true situation;
+  Get me, I pray, for I'm putting you hep:
+While I've been fooling with versification
+  Time has been flying.... Both gates!
+    Watch your step!
+
+
+
+
+The Last Laugh
+
+Horace: Epode 15
+
+_"Nox erat et cælo fulgebat Luna sereno----"_
+
+
+"How sweet the moonlight sleeps," I quoted,
+  "Upon this bank!" that starry night--
+The night you vowed you'd be devoted--
+  I'll tell the world you held me tight.
+
+The night you said until Orion
+  Should cease to whip the wintry sea,
+Until the lamb should love the lion,
+  You would, you swore, be all for me.
+
+Some day, Neæra, you'll be sorry.
+  No mollycoddle swain am I.
+I shall not sit and pine, by gorry!
+  Because you're with some other guy!
+
+No, I shall turn my predilection
+  Upon some truer, fairer Jane;
+And all your prayer and genuflexion
+  For my return shall be in vain.
+
+And as for _you_, who choose to sneer, O,
+  Though deals in lands and stocks you swing,
+Though handsome as a movie hero,
+  Though wise you are--and everything;
+
+Yet, when the loss of her you're mourning,
+  How I shall laugh at all your woe!
+How I'll remind you of this warning,
+  And laugh, "Ha! ha! I told you so!"
+
+
+
+
+Again Endorsing the Lady
+
+Book II, Elegy 2
+
+_"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere
+lecto----"_
+
+
+I
+
+I was free. I thought that I had entered Love's Antarctic Zone.
+"A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights shall be my own."
+But Love has double-crossed me. How can Beauty be so fair?
+The grace of her, the face of her--and oh, her yellow hair!
+
+And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth a goddess glide.
+Jove's sister--ay, or Pallas--hath no statelier a stride.
+Fair as Ischomache herself, the Lapithanian maid;
+Or Brimo when at Mercury's side her virgin form she laid.
+
+Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the shepherd spied!
+Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures aside!
+And though she reach the countless years of the Cumæan Sibyl,
+May never, never Age at those delightful features nibble!
+
+
+II
+
+I thought that I was wholly free,
+  That I had Love upon the shelf;
+"Hereafter," I declared in glee,
+  "I'll have my evenings to myself."
+How can such mortal beauty live?
+(Ah, Jove, thine errings I forgive!)
+
+Her tresses pale the sunlight's gold;
+  Her hands are featly formed, and taper;
+Her--well, the rest ought not be told
+  In any modest family paper.
+Fair as Ischomache, and bright
+As Brimo. _Quæque_ queen is right.
+
+O goddesses of long ago,
+  A shepherd called ye sweet and slender.
+He saw ye, so he ought to know;
+  But sooth, to her ye must surrender.
+O may a million years not trace
+A single line upon that face!
+
+
+
+
+Propertius's Bid for Immortality
+
+Book III, Ode 3
+
+_"Carminis interea nostri redæmus in
+orbem----"_
+
+
+Let us return, then, for a time,
+To our accustomed round of rhyme;
+And let my songs' familiar art
+Not fail to move my lady's heart.
+
+They say that Orpheus with his lute
+Had power to tame the wildest brute;
+That "Variations on a Theme"
+Of his would stay the swiftest stream.
+
+They say that by the minstrel's song
+Cithæron's rocks were moved along
+To Thebes, where, as you may recall,
+They formed themselves to frame a wall.
+
+And Galatea, lovely maid,
+Beneath wild Etna's fastness stayed
+Her horses, dripping with the mere,
+Those Polypheman songs to hear.
+
+What marvel, then, since Bacchus and
+Apollo grasp me by the hand,
+That all the maidens you have heard
+Should hang upon my slightest word?
+
+Tænerian columns in my home
+Are not; nor any golden dome;
+No parks have I, nor Marcian spring,
+Nor orchards--nay, nor anything.
+
+The Muses, though, are friends of mine;
+Some readers love my lyric line;
+And never is Calliope
+Awearied by my poetry.
+
+O happy she whose meed of praise
+Hath fallen upon my sheaf of lays!
+And every song of mine is sent
+To be thy beauty's monument.
+
+The Pyramids that point the sky,
+The House of Jove that soars so high,
+Mausolus' tomb--they are not free
+From Death his final penalty.
+
+For fire or rain shall steal away
+The crumbling glory of their day;
+But fame for wit can never die,
+And gosh! I was a gay old guy!
+
+
+
+
+A Lament
+
+Propertius: Book II, Elegy 8
+
+_"Eripitur nobis iam pridem cara puella----"_
+
+
+While she I loved is being torn
+  From arms that held her many years,
+Dost thou regard me, friend, with scorn,
+  Or seek to check my tears?
+
+Bitter the hatred for a jilt,
+  And hot the hates of Eros are;
+My hatred, slay me an thou wilt,
+  For thee'd be gentler far.
+
+Can I endure that she recline
+  Upon another's arm? Shall they
+No longer call that lady "mine"
+  Who "mine" was yesterday?
+
+For Love is fleeting as the hours.
+  The town of Thebes is draped with moss,
+And Ilium's well-known topless towers
+  Are now a total loss.
+
+Fell Thebes and Troy; and in the grave
+  Have fallen lords of high degree.
+What songs I sang! What gifts I gave!
+  ... _She_ never fell for me.
+
+
+
+
+Bon Voyage--and Vice Versa
+
+Propertius: Elegy VIII, Part 1
+
+_"Tune igitur demens, nec te mea cura
+moratur?"_
+
+
+O Cynthia, hast thou lost thy mind?
+  Have I no claim on thine affection?
+Dost love the chill Illyrian wind
+  With something passing predilection?
+And is thy friend--whoe'er he be--
+The kind to take the place of _me_?
+
+Ah, canst thou bear the surging deep?
+  Canst thou endure the hard ship's-mattress?
+For scant will be thy hours of sleep
+  From Staten Island to Cape Hatt'ras;
+And won't thy fairy feet be froze
+With treading on the foreign snows?
+
+I hope that doubly blows the gale,
+  With billows twice as high as ever,
+So that the captain, fain to sail,
+  May not achieve his mad endeavour!
+The winds, when that they cease to roar,
+Shall find me wailing on the shore.
+
+Yet merit thou my love or wrath,
+  O False, I pray that Galatea
+May smile upon thy watery path!
+  A pleasant trip,--that's the idea.
+Light of my life, there never shall
+For me be any other gal.
+
+And sailors, as they hasten past,
+  Will always have to hear my query:
+"Where have you seen my Cynthia last?
+  Has anybody seen my dearie?"
+I'll shout: "In Malden or Marquette
+Where'er she be, I'll have her yet!"
+
+
+
+
+Fragment
+
+_"Militis in galea nidum fecere columbæ."_--PETRONIUS
+
+
+Within the soldier's helmet see
+  The nesting dove;
+Venus and Mars, it seems to me,
+  In love.
+
+
+
+
+On the Uses of Adversity
+
+_"Nam nihil est, quod non mortalibus afferat
+usum."_--PETRONIUS
+
+
+Nothing there is that mortal man may utterly despise;
+What in our wealth we treasured, in our poverty we prize.
+
+The gold upon a sinking ship has often wrecked the boat,
+While on a simple oar a shipwrecked man may keep afloat.
+
+The burglar seeks the plutocrat, attracted by his dress--
+The poor man finds his poverty the true preparedness.
+
+
+
+
+After Hearing "Robin Hood"
+
+
+The songs of Sherwood Forest
+  Are lilac-sweet and clear;
+The virile rhymes of merrier times
+  Sound fair upon mine ear.
+
+Sweet is their sylvan cadence
+  And sweet their simple art.
+The balladry of the greenwood tree
+  Stirs memories in my heart.
+
+O braver days and elder
+  With mickle valour dight,
+How ye bring back the time, alack!
+  When Harry Smith could write!
+
+
+
+
+Maud Muller Mutatur
+
+    In 1909 toilet goods were not considered a serious matter and
+    no special department of the catalogs was devoted to it. A
+    few perfumes and creams were scattered here and there among
+    bargain goods.
+
+    In 1919 an assortment of perfumes that would rival any city
+    department store is shown, along with six pages of other
+    toilet articles, including rouge and eyebrow pencils.
+
+    _--From "How the Farmer Has Changed in a Decade: Toilet
+    Goods," in Farm and Fireside's advertisement._
+
+
+Maud Muller, on a summer's day,
+Powdered her nose with _Bon Sachet_.
+
+Beneath her lingerie hat appeared
+Eyebrows and cheeks that were well veneered.
+
+Singing she rocked on the front piazz,
+To the tune of "The Land of the Sky Blue Jazz."
+
+But the song expired on the summer air,
+And she said "This won't get me anywhere."
+
+The judge in his car looked up at her
+And signalled "Stop!" to his brave chauffeur.
+
+He smiled a smile that is known as broad,
+And he said to Miss Muller, "Hello, how's Maud?"
+
+"What sultry weather this is? Gee whiz!"
+Said Maud. Said the judge, "I'll say it is."
+
+"Your coat is heavy. Why don't you shed it?
+Have a drink?" said Maud. Said the judge, "You said it."
+
+And Maud, with the joy of bucolic youth,
+Blended some gin and some French vermouth.
+
+Maud Muller sighed, as she poured the gin,
+"I've got something on Whittier's heroine."
+
+"Thanks," said the judge, "a peppier brew
+From a fairer hand was never knew."
+
+And when the judge had had number 7,
+Maud seemed an angel direct from Heaven.
+
+And the judge declared, "You're a lovely girl,
+An' I'm for you, Maudie, I'll tell the worl'."
+
+And the judge said, "Marry me, Maudie dearie?"
+And Maud said yes to the well known query.
+
+And she often thinks, in her rustic way,
+As she powders her nose with _Bon Sachet_,
+
+"I never'n the world would 'a got that guy,
+If I'd waited till after the First o' July."
+
+And of all glad words of prose or rhyme,
+The gladdest are, "Act while there yet is time."
+
+
+
+
+The Carlyles
+
+    [I was talking with a newspaper man the other day who seemed
+    to think that the fact that Mrs. Carlyle threw a teacup at
+    Mr. Carlyle should be given to the public merely as a fact.
+
+    But a fact presented to people without the proper--or even,
+    if necessary, without the improper--human being to go with it
+    does not mean anything and does not really become alive or
+    caper about in people's minds.
+
+    But what I want and what I believe most people want when a
+    fact is being presented is one or two touches that will make
+    natural and human questions rise in and play about like this:
+
+    "Did a servant see Mrs. Carlyle throw the teacup? Was the
+    servant an English servant with an English imagination or an
+    Irish servant with an Irish imagination? What would the fact
+    have been like if Mr. Browning had been listening at the
+    keyhole? Or Oscar Wilde, or Punch, or the Missionary Herald,
+    or The New York Sun, or the Christian Science Monitor?"
+    --GERALD STANLEY LEE in the Satevepost.]
+
+
+BY OUR OWN ROBERT BROWNING
+
+As a poet heart- and fancy-free--whole,
+I listened at the Carlyles' keyhole;
+And I saw, I, Robert Browning, saw,
+Tom hurl a teacup at Jane's jaw.
+She silent sat, nor tried to speak up
+When came the wallop with the teacup--
+A cup not filled with Beaune or Clicquot,
+But one that brimmed with Orange Pekoe.
+"Jane Welsh Carlyle," said Thomas, bold,
+"The tea you brewed for m' breakfast's cold!
+I'm feeling low i' my mind; a thing
+You know b' this time. Have at you!"... Bing!
+And hurled, threw he at her the teacup;
+And I wrote it, deeming it unique, up.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+BY OUR OWN OSCAR WILDE
+
+LADY LEFFINGWELL (_coldly_).--A full teacup!
+What a waste! So many good women
+and so little good tea.
+
+          [_Exit Lady Leffingwell_]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FROM OUR OWN "PUNCH"
+
+A MANCHESTER autograph collector, we are
+informed, has just offered £50 for the signature
+of Tea Carlyle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FROM OUR OWN "MISSIONARY HERALD"
+
+From what clouds cannot sunshine be distilled!
+When, in a fit of godless rage, Mr.
+Carlyle threw a teacup at the good woman he
+had vowed at the altar to love, honour, and
+obey, she smiled and the thought of China
+entered her head.
+
+Yesterday Mrs. Carlyle enrolled as a missionary,
+and will sail for the benighted land
+of the heathen to-morrow.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FROM OUR OWN "NEW YORK SUN"
+
+Fortunate is MRS. JANE WELSH CARLYLE
+to have escaped with her life, though if she
+had not, no American worthy of the traditions
+of Washington could simulate acute
+sorrow. MR. CARLYLE, wearied of the dilatory
+methods of the BAKERIAN War Department,
+properly took the law into his own
+strong hands.
+
+The argument that resulted in the teacup's
+leaving MR. CARLYLE'S hands was common in
+most households. It transpires that MRS.
+CARLYLE, with a Bolshevistic tendency that
+makes patriots wonder what the Department
+of Justice--to borrow a phrase from a newspaper
+cartoonist--thinks about, had been
+championing the British-Wilson League of
+Nations, that league which will make ironically
+true our "E Pluribus Unum"--one of
+many. Repeated efforts by MR. CARLYLE, in
+appeals to the Department of Justice, the
+Military Intelligence Division, and the City
+Government, were of no avail. And so MR.
+CARLYLE, like the red-blooded American he
+is, did what the authorities should have saved
+him the embarrassing trouble of doing.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FROM OUR OWN "CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR"
+
+It is reported that Mr. Thomas Carlyle has
+thrown a teacup at Mrs. Carlyle, and much
+exaggerated and acrid comment has been
+made on this incident.
+
+If it had been a whiskey glass, or a cocktail
+glass, the results might have been fatal.
+In Oregon, which went dry in 1916, the number
+of women hit by crockery has decreased
+4.2 per cent in three years. Of 1,844 women
+in Oregon hit by crockery in 1915, 1,802 were
+hit by glasses containing, or destined to contain,
+alcoholic stimulants. More than 94 per
+cent of these accidents resulted fatally. The
+remaining 22 women, hit by tea or coffee
+cups, are now happy, useful members of
+society.
+
+
+
+
+If Amy Lowell Had Been James
+Whitcomb Riley
+
+
+A DECADE
+
+When you came you were like red wine and honey,
+And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
+Now you are like morning bread--
+Smooth and pleasant,
+I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savour,
+But I am completely nourished.
+        --AMY LOWELL, in _The Chimæra_.
+
+When I wuz courtin' Annie, she wuz honey an' red wine,
+She made me feel all jumpy, did that ol' sweetheart o' mine;
+Wunst w'en I went to Crawfordsville, on one o' them there trips,
+I kissed her--an' the burnin' taste wuz sizzlin' on my lips.
+An' now I've married Annie, an' I see her all the time,
+I do not feel the daily need o' bustin' into rhyme.
+An' now the wine-y taste is gone, fer Annie's always there,
+An' I take her fer granted now, the same ez sun an' air.
+But though the honey taste wuz sweet, an' though the wine wuz strong,
+Yet ef I lost the sun an' air, I couldn't git along.
+
+
+
+
+If the Advertising Man Had
+Been Gilbert
+
+
+Never mind that slippery wet street--
+The tire with a thousand claws will hold you.
+Stop as quickly as you will--
+Those thousand claws grip the road like a vise.
+Turn as sharply as you will--
+Those thousand claws take a steel-prong grip on the road to prevent a
+  side skid.
+You're safe--safer than anything else will make you--
+Safe as you would be on a perfectly dry street.
+And those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too.
+
+--_From the Lancaster Tire and Rubber Company's
+advertisement in the Satevepost._
+
+
+Never mind it if you find it wet upon the street and slippery;
+  Never bother if the street is full of ooze;
+Do not fret that you'll upset, that you will spoil your summer frippery,
+  You may turn about as sharply as you choose.
+For those myriad claws will grip the road and keep the car from skidding,
+  And your steering gear will hold it fast and true;
+Every atom of the car will be responsive to your bidding,
+  AND those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too--
+        Oh, indubitably,
+  Those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too.
+
+
+
+
+If the Advertising Man Had
+Been Praed, or Locker
+
+
+"C'est distingue," says Madame La Mode,
+  'Tis a fabric of subtle distinction.
+For street wear it is superb.
+  The chic of the Rue de la Paix--
+The style of Fifth Avenue--
+  The character of Regent Street--
+All are expressed in this new fabric creation.
+  Leather-like but feather-light--
+It drapes and folds and distends to perfection.
+  And it may be had in dull or glazed,
+Plain or grained, basket weave or moiréd surfaces!
+
+--Advertisement of Pontine, in _Vanity Fair_.
+
+
+"C'est distingue," says Madame La Mode.
+  Subtly distinctive as a fabric fair;
+Nor Keats nor Shelley in his loftiest ode
+  Could thrum the line to tell how it will wear.
+
+The flair, the chic that is Rue de la Paix,
+  The style that is Fifth Avenue, New York.
+The character of Regent Street in May--
+  As leather strong, yet light as any cork.
+
+All these for her in this fair fabric clad.
+  (Light of my life, O thou my Genevieve!)
+In surface dull or glazed it may be had--
+  In plain or grained, moiréd or basket weave.
+
+
+
+
+Georgie Porgie
+
+BY MOTHER GOOSE AND OUR OWN SARA TEASDALE
+
+
+Bennie's kisses left me cold,
+  Eddie's made me yearn to die,
+Jimmie's made me laugh aloud,--
+  But Georgie's made me cry.
+
+Bennie sees me every night,
+  Eddie sees me every day,
+Jimmie sees me all the time,--
+  But Georgie stays away.
+
+
+
+
+On First Looking into Bee
+Palmer's Shoulders
+
+WITH BOWS TO KEATS AND KEITH'S
+
+["The World's Most Famous Shoulders"]
+
+_"Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
+  When a new planet swims into his ken,
+Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
+  He stared at the Pacific--and all his men
+Looked at each other with a wild surmise--
+  Silent upon a peak in Darien."_
+
+    "Bee" Palmer has taken the raw, human--all too human--stuff
+    of the underworld, with its sighs of sadness and regret, its
+    mad merriment, its swift blaze of passion, its turbulent
+    dances, its outlaw music, its songs of the social bandit, and
+    made a new art product of the theatre. She is to the sources
+    of jazz and the blues what François Villon was to the wild
+    life of Paris. Both have found exquisite blossoms of art in
+    the sector of life most removed from the concert room and the
+    boudoir, and their harvest has the vigour, the resolute life,
+    the stimulating quality, the indelible impress of daredevil,
+    care-free, do-as-you-please lives of the picturesque men and
+    women who defy convention.--From Keith's Press Agent.
+
+
+Much have I travell'd in the realms of jazz,
+And many goodly arms and shoulders seen
+Quiver and quake--if you know what I mean;
+I've seen a lot, as everybody has.
+Some plaudits got, while others got the razz.
+But when I saw Bee Palmer, shimmy queen,
+I shook--in sympathy--my troubled bean,
+And said, "This is the utter razmataz."
+
+Then felt I like some patient with a pain
+When a new surgeon swims into his ken,
+Or like stout Brodie, when, with reeling brain,
+He jumped into the river. There and then
+I subwayed up and took the morning train
+To Norwalk, Naugatuck, and Darien.
+
+
+
+
+To a Vers Librist
+
+
+"Oh bard," I said, "your verse is free;
+The shackles that encumber me,
+The fetters that are my obsession,
+Are never gyves to your expression.
+
+"The fear of falsities in rhyme,
+In metre, quantity, or time,
+Is never yours; you sing along
+Your unpremeditated song."
+
+"Correct," the young vers librist said.
+"Whatever pops into my head
+I write, and have but one small fetter:
+I start each line with a capital letter.
+
+"But rhyme and metre--Ishkebibble!--
+Are actually neglig_ib_le.
+I go ahead, like all my school,
+Without a single silly rule."
+
+Of rhyme I am so reverential
+He made me feel inconsequential.
+I shed some strongly saline tears
+For bards I loved in younger years.
+
+"If Keats had fallen for your fluff,"
+I said, "he might have done good stuff.
+If Burns had thrown his rhymes away,
+His songs might still be sung to-day."
+
+O bards of rhyme and metre free,
+My gratitude goes out to ye
+For all your deathless lines--ahem!
+Let's see, now.... What _is_ one of them?
+
+
+
+
+How Do You Tackle Your Work?
+
+
+How do you tackle your work each day?
+  Are you scared of the job you find?
+Do you grapple the task that comes your way
+  With a confident, easy mind?
+Do you stand right up to the work ahead
+  Or fearfully pause to view it?
+Do you start to toil with a sense of dread?
+  Or feel that you're going to do it?
+
+You can do as much as you think you can,
+  But you'll never accomplish more;
+If you're afraid of yourself, young man,
+  There's little for you in store.
+For failure comes from the inside first,
+  It's there if we only knew it,
+And you can win, though you face the worst,
+  If you feel that you're going to do it.
+
+Success! It's found in the soul of you,
+  And not in the realm of luck!
+The world will furnish the work to do,
+  But you must provide the pluck.
+You can do whatever you think you can,
+  It's all in the way you view it.
+It's all in the start that you make, young man:
+  You must feel that you're going to do it.
+
+How do you tackle your work each day?
+  With confidence clear, or dread?
+What to yourself do you stop and say
+  When a new task lies ahead?
+What is the thought that is in your mind?
+  Is fear ever running through it?
+If so, just tackle the next you find
+  By thinking you're going to do it.
+
+--From "A Heap o' Livin'," by Edgar A. Guest
+
+
+I tackle my terrible job each day
+  With a fear that is well defined;
+And I grapple the task that comes my way
+  With no confidence in my mind.
+I try to evade the work ahead,
+  As I fearfully pause to view it,
+And I start to toil with a sense of dread,
+  And doubt that I'm going to do it.
+
+I can't do as much as I think I can,
+  And I never accomplish more.
+I am scared to death of myself, old man,
+  As I may have observed before.
+I've read the proverbs of Charley Schwab,
+  Carnegie, and Marvin Hughitt;
+But whenever I tackle a difficult job,
+  O gosh! how I hate to do it!
+
+I try to believe in my vaunted power
+  With that confident kind of bluff,
+But somebody tells me The Conning Tower
+  Is nothing but awful stuff.
+And I take up my impotent pen that night,
+  And idly and sadly chew it,
+As I try to write something merry and bright,
+  And I know that I shall not do it.
+
+And that's how I tackle my work each day--
+  With terror and fear and dread--
+And all I can see is a long array
+  Of empty columns ahead.
+And those are the thoughts that are in my mind,
+  And that's about all there's to it.
+As long as it's work, of whatever kind,
+  I'm certain I cannot do it.
+
+
+
+
+Recuerdo
+
+
+We were very tired, we were very merry--
+We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
+It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable--
+But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
+We lay on the hill-top underneath the moon;
+And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
+
+We were very tired, we were very merry--
+We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
+And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
+From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
+And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
+And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
+
+We were very tired, we were very merry,
+We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
+We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
+And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
+And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
+And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.
+
+--EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY, _in Poetry_.
+
+
+I was very sad, I was very solemn--
+I had worked all day grinding out a column.
+I came back from dinner at half-past seven,
+And I couldn't think of anything till quarter to eleven;
+And then I read "Recuerdo," by Miss Millay,
+And I said, "I'll bet a nickel I can write that way."
+
+I was very sad, I was very solemn--
+I had worked all day whittling out a column.
+I said, "I'll bet a nickel I can chirp such a chant,"
+And Mr. Geoffrey Parsons said, "I'll bet you can't."
+I bit a chunk of chocolate and found it sweet,
+And I listened to the trucking on Frankfort Street.
+
+I was very sad, I was very solemn--
+I had worked all day fooling with a column.
+I got as far as this and took my verses in
+To Mr. Geoffrey Parsons, who said, "Kid, you win."
+And--not that I imagine that any one'll care--
+I blew that jitney on a subway fare.
+
+
+
+
+On Tradition
+
+LINES PROVOKED BY HEARING A YOUNG MAN
+WHISTLING
+
+
+No carmine radical in Art,
+  I worship at the shrine of Form;
+Yet open are my mind and heart
+  To each departure from the norm.
+When Post-Impressionism emerged,
+  I hesitated but a minute
+Before I saw, though it diverged,
+  That there was something healthy in it.
+
+And eke when Music, heavenly maid,
+  Undid the chains that chafed her feet,
+I grew to like discordant shade--
+  Unharmony I thought was sweet.
+When verse divorced herself from sound,
+  I wept at first. Now I say: "Oh, well,
+I see some sense in Ezra Pound,
+  And nearly some in Amy Lowell."
+
+Yet, though I storm at every change,
+  And each mutation makes me wince,
+I am not shut to all things strange--
+  I'm rather easy to convince.
+But hereunto I set my seal,
+  My nerves awry, askew, abristling:
+_I'll never change the way I feel_
+  _Upon the question of Free Whistling._
+
+
+
+
+Unshackled Thoughts on Chivalry,
+Romance, Adventure, Etc.
+
+
+Yesterday afternoon, while I was
+walking on Worth Street,
+A gust of wind blew my hat off.
+I swore, petulantly, but somewhat noisily.
+A young woman had been near, walking behind me;
+She must have heard me, I thought.
+And I was ashamed, and embarrassedly sorry.
+So I said to her: "If you heard me, I beg your pardon."
+But she gave me a frightened look
+And ran across the street,
+Seeking a policeman.
+So I thought, Why waste five hours trying to versify the incident?
+Vers libre would serve her right.
+
+
+
+
+Results Ridiculous
+
+    ("Humourists have amused themselves by translating famous
+    sonnets into free verse. A result no less ridiculous would
+    have been obtained if somebody had rewritten a passage from
+    'Paradise Lost' as a rondeau."--GEORGE SOULE in the _New
+    Republic_.)
+
+
+"PARADISE LOST"
+
+Sing, Heavenly Muse, in lines that flow
+  More smoothly than the wandering Po,
+  Of man's descending from the height
+  Of Heaven itself, the blue, the bright,
+To Hell's unutterable throe.
+
+Of sin original and the woe
+That fell upon us here below
+    From man's pomonic primal bite--
+            Sing, Heavenly Muse!
+
+Of summer sun, of winter snow,
+Of future days, of long ago,
+  Of morning and "the shades of night,"
+  Of woman, "my ever new delight,"
+Go to it, Muse, and put us joe--
+            Sing, Heavenly Muse!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+"THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER"
+
+The wedding guest sat on a stone,
+  He could not choose but hear
+The mariner. They were there alone.
+The wedding guest sat on a stone.
+"I'll read you something of my own,"
+  Declared that mariner.
+The wedding guest sat on a stone--
+  He could not choose but hear.
+
+
+
+
+Regarding (1) the U. S. and (2)
+New York
+
+
+Before I was a travelled bird,
+  I scoffed, in my provincial way,
+At other lands; I deemed absurd
+  All nations but these U. S. A.
+
+And--although Middle-Western born--
+  Before I was a travelled guy,
+I laughed at, with unhidden scorn,
+  All cities but New York, N. Y.
+
+But now I've been about a bit--
+  How travel broadens! How it does!
+And I have found out this, to wit:
+  How right I was! How right I was!
+
+
+
+
+Broadmindedness
+
+
+How narrow his vision, how cribbed and confined!
+  How prejudiced all of his views!
+How hard is the shell of his bigoted mind!
+  How difficult he to excuse!
+
+His face should be slapped and his head should be banged;
+  A person like that ought to die!
+I want to be fair, but a man should be hanged
+  Who's any less liberal than I.
+
+
+
+
+The Jazzy Bard
+
+
+Labor is a thing I do not like;
+Workin's makes me want to go on strike;
+Sittin' in an office on a sunny afternoon,
+Thinkin' o' nothin' but a ragtime tune.
+
+'Cause I got the blues, I said I got the blues,
+I got the paragraphic blues.
+Been a-sittin' here since ha' pas' ten,
+Bitin' a hole in my fountain pen;
+Brain's all stiff in the creakin' joints,
+Can't make up no wheezes on the Fourteen Points;
+Can't think o' nothin' 'bout the end o' booze,
+'Cause I got the para--, I said the paragraphic, I mean the column
+  conductin' blues.
+
+
+
+
+Lines on and from "Bartlett's
+Familiar Quotations"
+
+    ("Sir: For the first time in twenty-three years 'Bartlett's
+    Familiar Quotations' has been revised and enlarged, and under
+    separate cover we are sending you a copy of the new edition.
+    We would appreciate an expression of opinion from you of the
+    value of this work after you have had an ample opportunity of
+    examining it."--THE PUBLISHERS.)
+
+
+Of making many books there is no end--
+  So Sancho Panza said, and so say I.
+Thou wert my guide, philosopher and friend
+  When only one is shining in the sky.
+
+Books cannot always please, however good;
+  The good is oft interred with their bones.
+To be great is to be misunderstood,
+  The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans.
+
+The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,
+  I never write as funny as I can.
+Remote, unfriended, studious let me sit
+  And say to all the world, "This was a man!"
+
+Go, lovely Rose that lives its little hour!
+  Go, little booke! and let who will be clever!
+Roll on! From yonder ivy-mantled tower
+  The moon and I could keep this up forever.
+
+
+
+
+Thoughts in a Far Country
+
+
+I rise and applaud, in the patriot manner,
+  Whenever (as often) I hear
+The palpitant strains of "The Star Spangled Banner,"--
+          I shout and cheer.
+
+And also, to show my unbounded devotion,
+  I jump to me feet with a "Whee!"
+Whenever "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean"
+          Is played near me.
+
+My fervour's so hot and my ardour so searing--
+  I'm hoarse for a couple of days--
+You've heard me, I'm positive, joyously cheering
+          "The Marseillaise."
+
+I holler for "Dixie." I go off my noodle,
+  I whistle, I pound, and I stamp
+Whenever an orchestra plays "Yankee Doodle,"
+          Or "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp."
+
+But if you would enter my confidence, Reader,
+  Know that I'd go clean off my dome,
+And madly embrace any orchestra leader
+          For "Home, Sweet Home."
+
+
+
+
+When You Meet a Man from Your
+Own Home Town
+
+
+Sing, O Muse, in the treble clef,
+A little song of the A. E. F.,
+And pardon me, please, if I give vent
+To something akin to sentiment.
+But we have our moments Over Here
+When we want to cry and we want to cheer;
+And the hurrah feeling will not down
+When you meet a man from your own home town.
+
+It's many a lonesome, longsome day
+Since you embarked from the U. S. A.,
+And you met some men--it's a great big war--
+From towns that you never had known before;
+And you landed here, and your rest camp mate
+Was a man from some strange and distant state.
+Liked him? Yes; but you wanted to see
+A man from the town where you used to be.
+
+And then you went, by design or chance,
+All over the well-known map of France;
+And you yearned with a yearn that grew and grew
+To talk with a man from the burg you knew.
+And some lugubrious morning when
+Your morale is batting about .110,
+"Where are you from?" and you make reply,
+And the O. D. warrior says, "So am I."
+
+The universe wears a smiling face
+As you spill your talk of the old home place;
+You talk of the streets, and the home town jokes,
+And you find that you know each other's folks;
+And you haven't any more woes at all
+As you both decide that the world _is_ small--
+A statement adding to its renown
+When you meet a man from your own home town.
+
+You may be among the enlisted men,
+You may be a Lieut. or a Major-Gen.;
+Your home may be up in the Chilkoot Pass,
+In Denver, Col., or in Pittsfield, Mass.;
+You may have come from Chicago, Ill.,
+Buffalo, Portland, or Louisville--
+But there's nothing, I'm gambling, can keep you down,
+When you meet a man from your own home town.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If you want to know why I wrote this pome,
+Well ... I've just had a talk with a guy from home.
+
+
+
+
+The Shepherd's Resolution
+
+_If she be not so to me,
+What care I how fair she be?_
+
+                --WITHER.
+
+BY OUR OWN JEROME D. KERN, AUTHOR OF
+"YOU'RE HERE AND I'M HERE"
+
+
+I don't care if a girl is fair
+If she doesn't seem beautiful to me,
+I won't waste away if she's fair as day,
+Or prettier than meadows in the month of May;
+As long as you are there for me to see,
+I don't care and you don't care
+How many others are beyond compare--
+You're the only one I like to have around.
+
+I won't mind if she's everything combined,
+If she doesn't seem wonderful to me,
+I won't fret if she's everybody's pet,
+Or considered by all as the one best bet;
+As long as you and I are only we,
+I don't care and you don't care
+How many others are beyond compare,
+You're the only one I like to have around.
+
+
+
+
+"It Was a Famous Victory"
+
+(1944)
+
+
+It was a summer evening;
+  Old Kaspar was at home,
+Sitting before his cottage door--
+  Like in the Southey pome--
+And near him, with a magazine,
+Idled his grandchild, Geraldine.
+
+"Why don't you ask me," Kaspar said
+  To the child upon the floor,
+"Why don't you ask me what I did
+  When I was in the war?
+They told me that each little kid
+Would surely ask me what I did.
+
+"I've had my story ready
+  For thirty years or more."
+"Don't bother, Grandpa," said the child;
+  "I find such things a bore.
+Pray leave me to my magazine,"
+Asserted little Geraldine.
+
+Then entered little Peterkin,
+  To whom his gaffer said:
+"You'd like to hear about the war?
+  How I was left for dead?"
+"No. And, besides," declared the youth,
+"How do I know you speak the truth?"
+
+Arose that wan, embittered man,
+  The hero of this pome,
+And walked, with not unsprightly step,
+  Down to the Soldiers' Home,
+Where he, with seven other men,
+Sat swapping lies till half-past ten.
+
+
+
+
+On Profiteering
+
+
+Although I hate
+  A profiteer
+With unabat-
+  Ed loathing;
+Though I detest
+  The price they smear
+On pants and vest
+  And clothing;
+
+Yet I admit
+  My meed of crime,
+Nor do one whit
+  Regret it;
+I'd triple my
+  Price for a rhyme,
+If I thought I
+  Could get it.
+
+
+
+
+Despite
+
+
+The terrible things that the Governor
+  Of Kansas says alarm me;
+And yet somehow we won the war
+  In spite of the Regular Army.
+
+The things they say of the old N. G.
+  Are bitter and cruel and hard;
+And yet we walloped the enemy
+  In spite of the National Guard.
+
+Too late, too late, was our work begun;
+  Too late were our forces sent;
+And yet we smeared the horrible Hun
+  In spite of the President.
+
+"What a frightful flivver this Baker is!"
+  Cried many a Senator;
+And yet we handed the Kaiser his
+  In spite of the Sec. of War.
+
+A sadly incompetent, sinful crew
+  Is that of the recent fight;
+And yet we put it across, we do,
+  In spite of a lot of spite.
+
+
+
+
+The Return of the Soldier
+
+
+Lady, when I left you
+  Ere I sailed the sea,
+Bitterly bereft you
+  Told me you would be.
+
+Frequently and often
+  When I fought the foe,
+How my heart would soften,
+  Pitying your woe!
+
+Still, throughout my yearning,
+  It was my belief
+That my mere returning
+  Would annul your grief.
+
+Arguing _ex parte_,
+  Maybe you can tell
+Why I find your heart A.
+  W. O. L.
+
+
+
+
+"I Remember, I Remember"
+
+
+I remember, I remember
+The house where I was born;
+The rent was thirty-two a month,
+Which made my father mourn.
+He said he could remember when
+_His_ father paid the rent;
+And when a man's expenses did
+Not take his every cent.
+
+I remember, I remember--
+My mother telling my cousin
+That eggs had gone to twenty-six
+Or seven cents a dozen;
+And how she told my father that
+She didn't like to speak
+Of things like that, but Bridget now
+Demanded four a week.
+
+I remember, I remember--
+And with a mirthless laugh--
+My weekly board at college took
+A jump to three and a half.
+I bought an eighteen-dollar suit,
+And father told me, "Sonny,
+I'll pay the bill this time, but, Oh,
+I am not made of money!"
+
+I remember, I remember,
+When I was young and brave
+And I declared, "Well, Birdie, we
+Shall now begin to save."
+It was a childish ignorance,
+But now 'tis little joy
+To know I'm farther off from wealth
+Than when I was a boy.
+
+
+
+
+The Higher Education
+
+    (Harvard's prestige in football is a leading factor. The best
+    players in the big preparatory schools prefer to study at
+    Cambridge, where they can earn fame on the gridiron. They do
+    not care to be identified with Yale and Princeton.--JOE VILA
+    in the _Evening Sun_.)
+
+
+"Father," began the growing youth,
+  "Your pleading finds me deaf;
+Although I know you speak the truth
+  About the course at Shef.
+But think you that I have no pride,
+  To follow such a trail?
+I cannot be identified
+  With Princeton or with Yale."
+
+"Father," began another lad,
+  Emerging from his prep;
+"I know you are a Princeton grad,
+  But the coaches have no pep.
+But though the Princeton profs provide
+  Fine courses to inhale;
+I cannot be identified
+  With Princeton or with Yale."
+
+"I know," he said, "that Learning helps
+  A lot of growing chaps;
+That Yale has William Lyon Phelps,
+  And Princeton Edward Capps.
+But while, within the Football Guide,
+  The Haughton hosts prevail,
+I cannot be identified
+  With Princeton or with Yale."
+
+
+
+
+War and Peace
+
+
+"This war is a terrible thing," he said,
+"With its countless numbers of needless dead;
+A futile warfare it seems to me,
+Fought for no principle I can see.
+Alas, that thousands of hearts should bleed
+For naught but a tyrant's boundless greed!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Said the wholesale grocer, in righteous mood,
+As he went to adulterate salable food.
+
+Spake as follows the merchant king:
+"Isn't this war a disgraceful thing?
+Heartless, cruel, and useless, too;
+It doesn't seem that it _can_ be true.
+Think of the misery, want, and fear!
+We ought to be grateful we've no war here.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Six a week"--to a girl--"That's flat!
+I can get a thousand to work for that."
+
+
+
+
+Fifty-Fifty
+
+
+For something like eleven summers
+  I've written things that aimed to teach
+Our careless mealy-mouthéd mummers
+  To be more sedulous of speech.
+
+So sloppy of articulation
+  So limping and so careless they
+About distinct enunciation,
+  Often I don't know what they say.
+
+The other night an able actor,
+  Declaiming of some lines I heard,
+I hailed a public benefactor,
+  As I distinguished every word.
+
+But, oh! the subtle disappointment!
+  Thorn on the celebrated rose
+And fly within the well-known ointment!
+  (Allusions everybody knows.)
+
+Came forth the words exact and snappy.
+  And as I sat there, that P.M.,
+I mused, "Was I not just as happy
+  When I could not distinguish them?"
+
+
+
+
+"So Shines a Good Deed in a
+Naughty World"
+
+
+There was a man in our town, and he was wondrous rich;
+He gave away his millions to the colleges and sich;
+And people cried: "The hypocrite! He ought to understand
+The ones who really need him are the children of this land."
+
+When Andrew Croesus built a home for children who were sick,
+The people said they rather thought he did it as a trick,
+And writers said: "He thinks about the drooping girls and boys,
+But what about conditions with the men whom he employs?"
+
+There was a man in our town who said that he would share
+His profits with his laborers, for that was only fair,
+And people said: "Oh, isn't he the shrewd and foxy gent?
+It cost him next to nothing for that free advertisement."
+
+There was a man in our town who had the perfect plan
+To do away with poverty and other ills of man,
+But he feared the public jeering, and the folks who would defame him,
+So he never told the plan he had, and I can hardly blame him.
+
+
+
+
+Vain Words
+
+
+Humble, surely, mine ambition;
+  It is merely to construct
+Some occasion or condition
+  When I may say "usufruct."
+
+Earnest am I and assiduous;
+  Yet I'm certain that I shan't amount
+To a lot till I use "viduous,"
+  "Indiscerptible," and "tantamount."
+
+
+
+
+On the Importance of Being
+Earnest
+
+
+"Gentle Jane was as good as gold,"
+  To borrow a line from Mr. Gilbert;
+She hated War with a hate untold,
+  She was a pacifistic filbert.
+If you said "Perhaps"--she'd leave the hall.
+You couldn't argue with her at all.
+
+"Teasing Tom was a very bad boy,"
+  (Pardon my love for a good quotation).
+To talk of war was his only joy,
+  And his single purpose was Preparation.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And what both of these children had to say
+I never knew, for I ran away.
+
+
+
+
+It Happens in the B. R. Families
+
+WITH THE CUSTOMARY OBEISANCES
+
+
+'Twas on the shores that round our coast
+  From Deal to Newport lie
+That I roused from sleep in a huddled heap
+  An elderly wealthy guy.
+
+His hair was graying, his hair was long,
+  And graying and long was he;
+And I heard this grouch on the shore avouch,
+  In a singular jazzless key:
+
+"Oh, I am a cook and a waitress trim
+  And the maid of the second floor,
+And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep_er_.
+  And the man who tends the door!"
+
+And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
+  And he started to frisk and play,
+Till I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
+  So I said (in the Gilbert way):
+
+"Oh, elderly man, I don't know much
+  Of the ways of societee,
+But I'll eat my friend if I comprehend
+  However you can be
+
+"At once a cook and a waitress trim
+  And the maid of the second floor,
+And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep_er_,
+  And the man who tends the door."
+
+Then he smooths his hair with a nervous air,
+  And a gulp in his throat he swallows,
+And that elderly guy he then lets fly
+  Substantially as follows:
+
+"We had a house down Newport way,
+  And we led a simple life;
+There was only I," said the elderly guy,
+  "And my daughter and my wife.
+
+"And of course the cook and the waitress trim
+  And the maid of the second floor,
+And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep_er_,
+  And the man who tends the door.
+
+"One day the cook she up and left,
+  She up and left us flat.
+She was getting a hundred and ten a mon-
+  Th, but she couldn't work for that.
+
+"And the waitress trim was her bosom friend,
+  And she wouldn't stay no more;
+And our strong chauffeur eloped with her
+  Who was maid of the second floor.
+
+"And we couldn't get no other help,
+  So I had to cook and wait.
+It was quite absurd," wept the elderly bird.
+  "I deserve a better fate.
+
+"And I drove the car and I made the beds
+  Till the housekeeper up and quit;
+And the man at the door found that a bore,
+  Which is why I am, to wit:
+
+"At once a cook and a waitress trim
+  And the maid of the second floor,
+And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep_er_,
+  And the man who tends the door."
+
+
+
+
+Abelard and Heloïse
+
+    ["There are so many things I want to talk to you about."
+    Abelard probably said to Heloïse, "but how can I when I can
+    only think about kissing you?"--KATHARINE LANE in the
+    _Evening Mail_.]
+
+
+Said Abelard to Heloïse:
+"Your tresses blowing in the breeze
+Enchant my soul; your cheek allures;
+I never knew such lips as yours."
+
+Said Heloïse to Abelard:
+"I know that it is cruel, hard,
+To make you fold your yearning arms
+And think of things besides my charms."
+
+Said Abelard to Heloïse:
+"Pray let's discuss the Portuguese;
+Their status in the League of Nations.
+... Come, slip me seven osculations."
+
+"The Fourteen Points," said Heloïse,
+"Are pure Woodrovian fallacies."
+Said Abelard: "Ten times fourteen
+The points you have, O beaucoup queen!"
+
+"Lay off," said Heloïse, "all that stuff.
+I've heard the same old thing enough."
+"But," answered Abelard, "your lips
+Put all my thoughts into eclipse."
+
+"O Abelard," said Heloïse,
+"Don't take so many liberties."
+"O Heloïse," said Abelard,
+"I do it but to show regard."
+
+And Heloïse told her chum that night
+That Abelard was Awful Bright;
+And--thus is drawn the cosmic plan--
+She _loved_ an Intellectual Man.
+
+
+
+
+Lines Written on the Sunny Side
+of Frankfort Street
+
+
+Sporting with Amaryllis in the shade,
+  (I credit Milton in parenthesis),
+Among the speculations that she made
+            Was this:
+
+"When"--these her very words--"when you return,
+  A slave to duty's harsh commanding call,
+Will you, I wonder, ever sigh and yearn
+            At all?"
+
+Doubt, honest doubt, sat then upon my brow.
+  (Emotion is a thing I do not plan.)
+I could not fairly answer then, but now
+            I can.
+
+Yes, Amaryllis, I can tell you this,
+  Can answer publicly and unafraid:
+You haven't any notion how I miss
+            The shade.
+
+
+
+
+Fifty-Fifty
+
+    [We think about the feminine faces we meet in the streets,
+    and experience a passing melancholy because we are
+    unacquainted with some of the girls we see.--From "The Erotic
+    Motive in Literature," by ALBERT MORDELL.]
+
+
+Whene'er I take my walks abroad,
+  How many girls I see
+Whose form and features I applaud
+  With well-concealéd glee!
+
+I'd speak to many a sonsie maid,
+  Or willowy or obese,
+Were I not fearful, and afraid
+  She'd yell for the police.
+
+And Melancholy, bittersweet,
+  Marks me then as her own,
+Because I lack the nerve to greet
+  The girls I might have known.
+
+Yet though with sadness I am fraught,
+  (As I remarked before),
+There is one sweetly solemn thought
+  Comes to me o'er and o'er:
+
+For every shadow cloud of woe
+  Hath argentine alloy;
+I see some girls I do not know,
+  And feel a passing joy.
+
+
+
+
+To Myrtilla
+
+
+Twelve fleeting years ago, my Myrt,
+  (_Eheu fugaces!_ maybe more)
+I wrote of the directoire skirt
+            You wore.
+
+Ten years ago, Myrtilla mine,
+  The hobble skirt engaged my pen.
+That was, I calculate, in Nine-
+            Teen Ten.
+
+The polo coat, the feathered lid,
+  The phony furs of yesterfall,
+The current shoe--I tried to kid
+            Them all.
+
+Vain every vitriolic bit,
+  Silly all my sulphuric song.
+Rube Goldberg said a bookful; it
+            'S all wrong.
+
+Bitter the words I used to fling,
+  But you, despite my angriest Note,
+Were never swayed by anything
+            I wrote.
+
+So I surrender. I am beat.
+  And, though the admission rather girds,
+In any garb you're just too sweet
+            For words.
+
+
+
+
+A Psalm of Labouring Life
+
+
+Tell me not, in doctored numbers,
+  Life is but a name for work!
+For the labour that encumbers
+  Me I wish that I could shirk.
+
+Life is phony! Life is rotten!
+  And the wealthy have no soul;
+Why should you be picking cotton?
+  Why should I be mining coal?
+
+Not employment and not sorrow
+  Is my destined end or way;
+But to act that each to-morrow
+  Finds me idler than to-day.
+
+Work is long, and plutes are lunching;
+  Money is the thing I crave;
+But my heart continues punching
+  Funeral time-clocks to the grave.
+
+In the world's uneven battle,
+  In the swindle known as life,
+Be not like the stockyards cattle--
+  Stick your partner with a knife!
+
+Trust no Boss, however pleasant!
+  Capital is but a curse!
+Strike,--strike in the living present!
+  Fill, oh fill, the bulging purse!
+
+Lives of strikers all remind us
+  We can make our lives a crime,
+And, departing, leave behind us
+  Bills for double overtime.
+
+Charges that, perhaps another,
+  Working for a stingy ten
+Bucks a day, some mining brother
+  Seeing, shall walk out again.
+
+Let us, then, be up and striking,
+  Discontent with all of it;
+Still undoing, still disliking,
+  Learn to labour--and to quit.
+
+
+
+
+Ballade of Ancient Acts
+
+AFTER HENLEY
+
+
+Where are the wheezes they essayed
+And where the smiles they made to flow?
+Where's Caron's seltzer siphon laid,
+A squirt from which laid Herbert low?
+Where's Charlie Case's comic woe
+And Georgie Cohan's nasal drawl?
+The afterpiece? The olio?
+Into the night go one and all.
+
+Where are the japeries, fresh or frayed,
+That Fields and Lewis used to throw?
+Where is the horn that Shepherd played?
+The slide trombone that Wood would blow?
+Amelia Glover's l. f. toe?
+The Rays and their domestic brawl?
+Bert Williams with "Oh, _I_ Don't Know?"
+Into the night go one and all.
+
+Where's Lizzie Raymond, peppy jade?
+The braggart Lew, the simple Joe?
+And where the Irish servant maid
+That Jimmie Russell used to show?
+Charles Sweet, who tore the paper snow?
+Ben Harney's where? And Artie Hall?
+Nash Walker, Darktown's grandest beau?
+Into the night go one and all.
+
+
+L'ENVOI
+
+Prince, though our children laugh "Ho! Ho!"
+At us who gleefully would fall
+For acts that played the Long Ago,
+Into the night go one and all.
+
+
+
+
+To a Prospective Cook
+
+
+Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?
+Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet weed the flowers,
+But stand in the kitchen and cook a fine meal,
+And ride every night in an automobile.
+
+Curly Locks, Curly Locks, come to us soon!
+Thou needst not to rise until mid-afternoon;
+Thou mayst be Croatian, Armenian, or Greek;
+Thy guerdon shall be what thou askest per week.
+
+Curly Locks, Curly Locks, give us a chance!
+Thou shalt not wash windows, nor iron my pants.
+Oh, come to the cosiest of seven-room bowers,
+Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?
+
+
+
+
+Variation on a Theme
+
+June 30, 1919.
+
+
+Notably fond of music, I dote on a clearer tone
+Than ever was blared by a bugle or zoomed by a saxophone;
+And the sound that opens the gates for me of a Paradise revealed
+Is something akin to the note revered by the blesséd Eugene Field,
+Who sang in pellucid phrasing that I perfectly well recall
+Of the clink of the ice in the pitcher that the boy brings up the hall.
+But sweeter to me than the sparrow's song or the goose's autumn honks
+Is the sound of the ice in the shaker as the barkeeper mixes a Bronx.
+
+Between the dark and the daylight, when I'm worried about The Tower,
+Comes a pause in the day's tribulations that is known as the cocktail
+  hour;
+And my soul is sad and jaded, and my heart is a thing forlorn,
+And I view the things I have written with a sickening, scathing scorn.
+Oh, it's then I fare with some other slave who is hired for the things
+  he writes
+To a Den of Sin where they mingle gin--such as Lipton's, Mouquin's, or
+  Whyte's,
+And my spirit thrills to a music sweeter than Sullivan or Puccini--
+The swash of the ice in the shaker as he mixes a Dry Martini.
+
+The drys will assert that metallic sound is the selfsame canon made
+By the ice in the shaker that holds a drink like orange or lemonade;
+But on the word of a travelled man and a bard who has been around,
+The sound of tin on ice and gin is a snappier, happier sound.
+And I mean to hymn, as soon as I have a moment of leisure time,
+The chill susurrus of cocktail ice in an adequate piece of rhyme.
+But I've just had an invitation to hark, at a beckoning bar,
+To the sound of the ice in the shaker as the barkeeper mixes a Star.
+
+
+
+
+"Such Stuff as Dreams"
+
+
+Jenny kiss'd me in a dream;
+  So did Elsie, Lucy, Cora,
+Bessie, Gwendolyn, Eupheme,
+  Alice, Adelaide, and Dora.
+Say of honour I'm devoid,
+  Say monogamy has miss'd me,
+But don't say to Dr. Freud
+        Jenny kiss'd me.
+
+
+
+
+The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide
+
+
+They brought to me his mangled corpse
+  And I feared lest I should swing.
+"O tell me, tell me,--and make it brief--
+  Why hast thou done this thing?
+
+"Had this man robbed the starving poor
+  Or lived a gunman's life,
+Had he set fire to cottages,
+  Or run off with thy wife?"
+
+"He hath not robbed the starving poor,
+  Nor lived a gunman's life;
+He hath set fire to no cottage,
+  Nor run off with my wife.
+
+"Ye ask me such a question that
+  It now my lips unlocks:
+I learned he was the man who planned
+  The second balcony box."
+
+The jury pondered never an hour,
+  They thought not even a little,
+But handed in unanimously
+  A verdict of acquittal.
+
+
+
+
+The Ballad of the Murdered
+Merchant
+
+
+All stark and cold the merchant lay,
+  All cold and stark lay he.
+And who hath killed this fair mer_chant_?
+  Now tell the truth to me.
+
+Oh, I have killed this fair mer_chant_
+  Will never again draw breath;
+Oh, I have made this fair mer_chant_
+  To come unto his death.
+
+Oh, why hast thou killed this fair mer_chant_
+  Whose corse I now behold?
+And why hast caused this man to lie
+  In death all stark and cold?
+
+Oh, I have killed this fair mer_chant_
+  Whose kith and kin make moan,
+For that he hath stolen my precious time
+  When he useth the telephone.
+
+The telephone bell rang full and clear;
+  The receiver did I seize.
+"Hello!" quoth I, and quoth a girl,
+  "Hello!... One moment, please."
+
+I waited moments ane and twa,
+  And moments three and four,
+And then I sought that fair mer_chant_
+  And spilled his selfish gore.
+
+That business man who scorneth to waste
+  His moments sae rich and fine
+In calling a man to the telephone
+  Shall never again waste mine!
+
+And every time a henchwom_an_
+  Shall cause me a moment's loss,
+I'll forthwith fare to that of_fice_
+  And stab to death her boss.
+
+Rise up! Rise up! thou blesséd knight!
+  And off thy bended knees!
+Go forth and slay all folk who make
+  Us wait "One moment, please."
+
+
+
+
+A Gotham Garden of Verses
+
+
+I
+
+In summer when the days are hot
+The subway is delayed a lot;
+In winter, quite the selfsame thing;
+In autumn also, and in spring.
+
+And does it not seem strange to you
+That transportation is askew
+In this--I pray, restrain your mirth!--
+In this, the Greatest Town on Earth?
+
+
+II
+
+All night long and every night
+The neighbours dance for my delight;
+I hear the people dance and sing
+Like practically anything.
+
+Women and men and girls and boys,
+All making curious kinds of noise
+And dancing in so weird a way,
+I never saw the like by day.
+
+So loud a show was never heard
+As that which yesternight occurred:
+They danced and sang, as I have said,
+As I lay wakeful on my bed.
+
+They shout and cry and yell and laugh
+And play upon the phonograph;
+And endlessly I count the sheep,
+Endeavouring to fall asleep.
+
+
+III
+
+It is very nice to think
+This town is full of meat and drink;
+That is, I'd think it very nice
+If my papa but had the price.
+
+
+IV
+
+This town is so full of a number of folks,
+I'm sure there will always be matter for jokes.
+
+
+
+
+Lines on Reading Frank J. Wilstach's
+"A Dictionary of Similes"
+
+
+As neat as wax, as good as new,
+As true as steel, as truth is true,
+Good as a sermon, keen as hate,
+Full as a tick, and fixed as fate--
+
+Brief as a dream, long as the day,
+Sweet as the rosy morn in May,
+Chaste as the moon, as snow is white,
+Broad as barn doors, and new as sight--
+
+Useful as daylight, firm as stone,
+Wet as a fish, dry as a bone,
+Heavy as lead, light as a breeze--
+Frank Wilstach's book of similes.
+
+
+
+
+The Dictaphone Bard
+
+    [And here is a suggestion: Did you ever try dictating your
+    stories or articles to the dictaphone for the first draft? I
+    would be glad to have you come down and make the
+    experiment.--From a shorthand reporter's circular letter.]
+
+(As "The Ballad of the Tempest" would have
+to issue from the dictaphone to the stenographer)
+
+_Begin each line with a capital. Indent alternate
+lines. Double space after each fourth
+line._
+
+
+_We were crowded in the cabin comma
+  Not a soul would dare to sleep dash comma
+It was midnight on the waters comma
+  And a storm was on the deep period_
+
+_Apostrophe Tis a fearful thing in capital Winter
+  To be shattered by the blast comma
+And to hear the rattling trumpet
+  Thunder colon quote capital Cut away the mast exclamation point
+    close quote_
+
+_So we shuddered there in silence comma dash
+  For the stoutest held his breath comma
+While the hungry sea was roaring comma
+ And the breakers talked with capital Death period_
+
+_As thus we sat in darkness comma
+  Each one busy with his prayers comma
+Quote We are lost exclamation point close quote the captain shouted comma
+  As he staggered down the stairs period_
+
+_But his little daughter whispered comma
+  As she took his icy hand colon
+Quote Isn't capital God upon the ocean comma
+  Just the same as on the land interrogation point close quote_
+
+_Then we kissed the little maiden comma
+  And we spake in better cheer comma
+And we anchored safe in harbor
+  When the morn was shining clear period_
+
+
+
+
+The Comfort of Obscurity
+
+INSPIRED BY READING MR. KIPLING'S POEMS AS
+PRINTED IN THE NEW YORK PAPERS
+
+
+Though earnest and industrious,
+I still am unillustrious;
+    No papers empty purses
+    Printing verses
+        Such as mine.
+No lack of fame is chronicker
+Than that about my monicker;
+    My verse is never cabled
+    At a fabled
+        Rate per line.
+
+Still though the Halls
+Of Literature are closed
+To me a bard obscure I
+Have a consolation The
+Copyreaders crude and rough
+Can't monkey with my
+Humble stuff and change MY
+Punctuation.
+
+
+
+
+Ballade of the Traffickers
+
+
+Up goes the price of our bread--
+Up goes the cost of our caking!
+People must ever be fed;
+Bakers must ever be baking.
+So, though our nerves may be quaking,
+Dumbly, in arrant despair,
+Pay we the crowd that is taking
+All that the traffic will bear.
+
+Costly to sleep in a bed!
+Costlier yet to be waking!
+Costly for one who is wed!
+Ruinous for one who is raking!
+Tradespeople, ducking and draking,
+Charge you as much as they dare,
+Asking, without any faking,
+All that the traffic will bear.
+
+Roof that goes over our head,
+Thirst so expensive for slaking,
+Paper, apparel, and lead--
+Why are their prices at breaking?
+Yet, though our purses be aching,
+Little the traffickers care;
+Getting, for chopping and steaking,
+All that the traffic will bear.
+
+
+L'ENVOI
+
+Take thou my verses, I pray, King,
+Letting my guerdon be fair.
+Even a bard must be making
+All that the traffic will bear.
+
+
+
+
+To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing
+The Conning Tower
+
+
+William, it was, I think, three years ago--
+  As I recall, one cool October morning--
+(You have _The Tribune_ files; I think they'll show
+        I gave you warning).
+
+I said, in well-selected words and terse,
+  In phrases balanced, yet replete with power,
+That I should cease to pen the prose and verse
+        Known as The Tower.
+
+That I should stop this Labyrinth of Light--
+  Though stopping make the planet leaden-hearted--
+Unless you stopped the well-known _Schrecklichkeit_
+        Your nation started.
+
+I printed it in type that you could read;
+  My paragraphs were thewed, my rhymes were sinewed.
+You paid, I judge from what ensued, no heed ...
+        The war continued.
+
+And though my lines with fortitude were fraught,
+  Although my words were strong, and stripped of stuffing,
+You, William, thought--oh, yes, you did--you thought
+        That I was bluffing.
+
+You thought that I would fail to see it through!
+  You thought that, at the crux of things, I'd cower!
+How little, how imperfectly you knew
+        The Conning Tower!
+
+You'll miss the column at the break of day.
+  I have no fear that I shall be forgotten.
+You'll miss the daily privilege to say:
+        "That stuff is rotten!"
+
+Or else--as sometimes has occurred--when I
+  Have chanced upon a lucky line to blunder,
+You'll miss the precious privilege to cry:
+        "That bird's a wonder!"
+
+Well, William, when your people cease to strafe,
+  When you have put an end to all this war stuff,
+When all the world is reasonably safe,
+        I'll write some more stuff.
+
+And when you miss the quip and wanton wile,
+  And learn you can't endure the Towerless season,
+O William, I shall not be petty ... I'll
+        Listen to reason.
+
+_October 5, 1917._
+
+
+
+
+To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming
+The Conning Tower
+
+
+Well, William, since I wrote you long ago--
+  As I recall, one cool October morning--
+(I have _The Tribune_ files. They clearly show
+        I gave you warning.)
+
+Since when I penned that consequential ode,
+  The world has seen a vast amount of slaughter,
+And under many a Gallic bridge has flowed
+        A lot of water.
+
+I said that when your people ceased to strafe,
+  That when you'd put an end to all this war stuff,
+And all the world was reasonably safe
+        I'd write some more stuff;
+
+That when you missed the quip and wanton wile
+  And learned you couldn't bear a Towerless season,
+I quote: "O, I shall not be petty.... I'll
+        Listen to reason."
+
+_Labuntur anni_, not to say _Eheu
+  Fugaces_! William, by my shoulders glistening!
+I have the final laugh, for it was you
+        Who did the listening.
+
+_January 15, 1919._
+
+
+
+
+Thoughts on the Cosmos
+
+
+I
+
+I do not hold with him who thinks
+The world is jonahed by a jinx;
+That everything is sad and sour,
+And life a withered hothouse flower.
+
+
+II
+
+I hate the Pollyanna pest
+Who says that All Is for the Best,
+And hold in high, unhidden scorn
+Who sees the Rose, nor feels the Thorn.
+
+
+III
+
+I do not like extremists who
+Are like the pair in (I) and (II);
+But how I hate the wabbly gink,
+Like me, who knows not what to think!
+
+
+
+
+On Environment
+
+
+I used to think that this environ-
+  Ment talk was all a lot of guff;
+Place mattered not with Keats and Byron
+              Stuff.
+
+If I have thoughts that need disclosing,
+  Bright be the day or hung with gloom,
+I'll write in Heaven or the composing-
+              Room.
+
+Times are when with my nerves a-tingle,
+  Joyous and bright the songs I sing;
+Though, gay, I can't dope out a single
+              Thing.
+
+And yet, by way of illustration,
+  The gods my graying head anoint ...
+I wrote _this_ piece at Inspiration
+               Point.
+
+
+
+
+The Ballad of the Thoughtless
+Waiter
+
+
+I saw him lying cold and dead
+  Who yesterday was whole.
+"Why," I inquired, "hath he expired?
+  And why hath fled his soul?"
+
+"But yesterday," his comrade said,
+  "All health was his, and strength;
+And this is why he came to die--
+  If I may speak at length.
+
+"But yesternight at dinnertime
+  At a not unknown café,
+He had a frugal meal as you
+  Might purchase any day.
+
+"The check for his so simple fare
+  Was only eighty cents,
+And a dollar bill with a right good will
+  Came from his opulence.
+
+"The waiter brought him twenty cents.
+  'Twas only yesternight
+That he softly said who now is dead
+  'Oh, keep it. 'At's a' right.'
+
+"And the waiter plainly uttered 'Thanks,'
+  With no hint of scorn or pride;
+And my comrade's heart gave a sudden start
+  And my comrade up and died."
+
+Now waiters overthwart this land,
+  In tearooms and in dives,
+Mute be your lips whatever the tips,
+  And save your customers' lives.
+
+
+
+
+Rus Vs. Urbs
+
+
+Whene'er the penner of this pome
+Regards a lovely country home,
+He sighs, in words not insincere,
+"I think I'd like to live out here."
+
+And when the builder of this ditty
+Returns to this pulsating city,
+The perpetrator of this pome
+Yearns for a lovely country home.
+
+
+
+
+"I'm Out of the Army Now"
+
+
+When first I doffed my olive drab,
+I thought, delightedly though mutely,
+"Henceforth I shall have pleasure ab-
+              Solutely."
+
+Dull with the drudgery of war,
+Sick of the very name of fighting,
+I yearned, I thought, for something more
+              Exciting.
+
+The rainbow be my guide, quoth I;
+My suit shall be a brave and proud one
+Gay-hued my socks; and oh, my tie
+              A loud one!
+
+For me the theatre and the dance;
+Primrose the path I would be wending;
+For me the roses of romance
+              Unending.
+
+Those were my inner thoughts that day
+(And those of many another million)
+When once again I should be a
+              Civilian.
+
+I would not miss the old o. d.;
+(Monotony I didn't much like)
+I would not miss the reveille,
+              And such like.
+
+I don't ... And do I now enjoy
+My walks along the primrose way so?
+Is civil life the life? Oh, boy,
+              I'll say so.
+
+
+
+
+"Oh Man!"
+
+
+Man hath harnessed the lightning;
+  Man hath soared to the skies;
+  Mountain and hill are clay to his will;
+Skilful he is, and wise.
+Sea to sea hath he wedded,
+  Canceled the chasm of space,
+Given defeat to cold and heat;
+  Splendour is his, and grace.
+
+His are the topless turrets;
+  His are the plumbless pits;
+Earth is slave to his architrave,
+  Heaven is thrall to his wits.
+And so in the golden future,
+  He who hath dulled the storm
+(As said above) may make a glove
+  That'll keep my fingers warm.
+
+
+
+
+An Ode in Time of Inauguration
+
+(March 4, 1913)
+
+
+Thine aid, O Muse, I consciously beseech;
+  I crave thy succour, ask for thine assistance
+That men may cry: "Some little ode! A peach!"
+  O Muse, grant me the strength to go the distance!
+For odes, I learn, are dithyrambs, and long;
+  Exalted feeling, dignity of theme
+And complicated structure guide the song.
+  (All this from Webster's book of high esteem.)
+
+Let complicated structure not becloud
+  My lucid lines, nor weight with overloading.
+To Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth and that crowd
+  I yield the bays for ground and lofty oding.
+Mine but the task to trace a country's growth,
+  As evidenced by each inauguration
+From Washington's to Wilson's primal oath--
+  In these U. S., the celebrated nation.
+
+But stay! or ever that I start to sing,
+  Or e'er I loose my fine poetic forces,
+I ought, I think, to do the decent thing,
+  To wit: give credit to my many sources:
+Barnes's "Brief History of the U. S. A.,"
+  Bryce, Ridpath, Scudder, Fiske, J. B. McMaster,
+A book of odes, a Webster, a Roget--
+  The bibliography of this poetaster.
+
+Flow, flow, my pen, as gently as sweet Afton ever flowed!
+An thou dost ill, shall this be still a poor thing, but mine ode.
+
+G. W., initial prex,
+  Right down in Wall Street, New York City,
+Took his first oath. Oh, multiplex
+  The whimsies quaint, the comments witty
+One might evolve from that! I scorn
+To mock the spot where he was sworn.
+
+On next Inauguration Day
+  He took the avouchment sempiternal
+Way down in Phil-a-delph-i-a,
+  Where rises now the L. H. Journal.
+His Farewell Speech in '96
+Said: "'Ware the Trusts and all their tricks!"
+
+John Adams fell on darksome days:
+  March Fourth was blustery and sleety;
+The French behaved in horrid ways
+  Until John Jay drew up a treaty.
+Came the Eleventh Amendment, too,
+Providing that--but why tell _you_?
+
+T. Jefferson, one history showed,
+  Held all display was vain and idle;
+Alone, unpanoplied, he rode;
+  Alone he hitched his horse's bridle.
+No ball that night, and no carouse,
+But back to Conrad's boarding house.
+
+He tied that bridle to the fence
+  The morning of inauguration;
+John Davis saw him do it; whence
+  Arose his "simple" reputation.
+The White House, though, with Thomas J.,
+Had chefs--and parties every day.
+
+
+THE MUSE INTERRUPTS THE ODIST
+
+If I were you I think I'd change my medium;
+  I weary of your meter and your style.
+The sameness of it sickens me to tedium;
+  I'll quit unless you switch it for a while.
+
+
+THE ODIST REPLIES
+
+I bow to thee, my Muse, most eloquent of pleaders;
+But why embarrass me in front of all these readers?
+
+Madison's inauguration
+Was a lovely celebration.
+In a suit of wool domestic
+Rode he, stately and majestic,
+Making it be manifest
+Clothes American are best.
+This has thundered through the ages.
+(See our advertising pages.)
+
+Lightly I pass along, and so
+Come to the terms of James Monroe
+Who framed the doctrine far too well
+Known for an odist to retell.
+His period of friendly dealing
+Began The Era of Good Feeling.
+
+John Quincy Adams followed him in Eighteen Twenty-four;
+Election was exciting--the details I shall ignore.
+But his inauguration as our country's President
+Was, take it from McMaster, some considerable event.
+It was a brilliant function, and I think I ought to add
+The Philadelphia "Ledger" said a gorgeous time was had.
+
+Old Andrew Jackson's pair of terms were terribly exciting;
+That stern, intrepid warrior had little else than fighting.
+A time of strife and turbulence, of politics and flurry.
+But deadly dull for poem themes, so, Mawruss, I should worry!
+
+In Washington did Martin Van
+  A stately custom then decree:
+Old Hickory, the veteran,
+Must ride with him, the people's man,
+  For all the world to see.
+A pleasant custom, in a way,
+  And yet I should have laughed
+To see the Sage of Oyster Bay
+  On Tuesday ride with Taft.
+(Pardon me this
+  Parenthetical halt:
+That sight you'll miss,
+  But it isn't my fault.)
+
+William Henry Harrison came
+  Riding a horse of alabaster,
+But the weather that day was a sin and a shame,
+  Take it from me and John McMaster.
+Only a month--and Harrison died,
+And V.-P. Tyler began preside.
+A far from popular prex was he,
+And the next one was Polk of Tennessee.
+There were two inaugural balls for him,
+But the rest of his record is rather dim.
+
+Had I the pen of a Pope or a Thackeray,
+  Had I the wisdom of Hegel or Kant,
+Then might I sing as I'd like to of Zachary,
+  Then might I sing a Taylorian chant.
+Oh, for the lyrical art of a Tennyson!
+  Oh, for the skill of Macaulay or Burke!
+None of these mine; so I give him my benison,
+  Turning reluctantly back to my work.
+
+O Millard Fillmore! when a man refers
+To thee, what direful, awful thing occurs?
+Though in itself thy name hath nought of wit,
+Yet--and this doth confound me to admit
+When I do hear it, I do smile; nay, more--
+I laugh, I scream, I cachinnate, I roar
+As Wearied Business Men do shake with glee
+At mimes that say "Dubuque" or "Kankakee";
+As basement-brows that laugh at New Rochelle;
+As lackwits laugh when actors mention Hell.
+Perhaps--it may be so--I am not sure--
+Perhaps it is that thou wast so obscure,
+And that one seldom hears a single word of thee;
+I know a lot of girls that never heard of thee.
+Hence did I smile, perhaps.... How very near
+The careless laughing to the thoughtful tear!
+O Fillmore, let me sheathe my mocking pen.
+God rest thee! I'll not laugh at thee again!
+
+I have heard it remarked that to Pierce's election
+There wasn't a soul had the slightest objection.
+I have also been told, by some caustical wit,
+That no one said nay when he wanted to quit.
+    Yet Franklin Pierce, forgotten man,
+      I celebrate your fame.
+    I'm doing just the best I can
+      To keep alive your name,
+    Though as a President, F. P.,
+    You didn't do as much for me.
+
+Of James Buchanan things a score
+  I might recite. I'll say that he was
+The only White House bachelor--
+  The only one, that's what J. B. was.
+      For he was a bachelor--
+    For he might have been a bigamist,
+    A Mormon, a polygamist,
+      And had thirty wives or more;
+    But this be his memorial:
+    He was ever unuxorial,
+      And remained a bachelor--
+      He re-mai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ained a bachelor.
+
+Lincoln! I falter, feeling it to be
+As if all words of mine in praise of him
+Were as the veriest dolt that saw the sun;
+And God had spoken him and said to him:
+"I bid you tell me what you think of it."
+And he should answer: "Oh, the sun is nice."
+So sadly fitted I to speak in praise
+Of Lincoln.
+
+Now during Andrew Johnson's term the currency grew stable;
+We bought Alaska and we laid the great Atlantic cable;
+And then there came eight years of Grant; thereafter four of Hayes;
+And in his time the parties fell on fierce and parlous days;
+And Garfield came, and Arthur too, and Congress shoes were worn,
+And Brooklyn Bridge was built, and I, your gifted bard, was born.
+
+Cleveland and Harrison came along then;
+Followed an era of Cleveland again.
+Came then McKinley and--light me a pipe--
+Hey, there, composing room, get some new type!
+
+_I sing him now as I shall sing him again;
+  I sing him now as I have sung before.
+How fluently his name comes off my pen!
+                O Theodore!_
+
+_Bless you and keep you, T. R.!
+  Energy tireless, eternal,
+Fixed and particular star,
+  Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel._
+
+_Energy tireless, eternal;
+  Hater of grafters and crooks!
+Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel,
+  Writer and lover of books,_
+
+_Hater of grafters and crooks,
+  Forceful, adroit, and expressive,
+Writer and lover of books,
+  Nevertheless a Progressive._
+
+_Forceful, adroit, and expressive,
+  Often asserting the trite;
+Nevertheless a Progressive;
+  Errant, but generally right._
+
+_Often asserting the trite;
+  Stubborn, and no one can force you.
+Errant, but generally right--
+  Yet, on the whole, I indorse you._
+
+_Stubborn, and no one can force you,
+  Fixed and particular star,
+Yet, on the whole, I indorse you,
+  Bless you and keep you, T. R.!_
+
+It blew, it rained, it snowed, it stormed, it froze, it hailed, it
+  sleeted
+The day that William Howard Taft upon the chair was seated.
+The four long years that followed--ah, that I should make a rime of it!
+For Mr. Taft assures me that he had an awful time of it.
+And yet meseems he did his best; and as we bid good-bye,
+I'll add he did a better job than you'd have done--or I.
+
+  Welcome to thee! I shake thy hand,
+  New prexy of our well-known land.
+  May what we merit, and no less,
+  Descend to give us happiness!
+  May what we merit, and no more,
+  Descend on us in measured store!
+  Give us but peace when we shall earn
+  The right to such a rich return!
+  Give us but plenty when we show
+  That we deserve to have it so!
+
+Mine ode is finished! Tut! It is a slight one,
+  But blame me not; I do as I am bid.
+The editor of COLLIER'S said to write one--
+                And I did.
+
+
+
+
+What the Copy Desk Might
+Have Done to:
+
+("Annabel Lee")
+
+=SOUL BRIDE ODDLY DEAD
+IN QUEER DEATH PACT=
+
+=High-Born Kinsman Abducts
+Girl from Poet-Lover--Flu
+Said to Be Cause of Death--Grand
+Jury to Probe=
+
+
+Annabel L. Poe, of 1834-1/2 3rd
+Av., the beautiful young fiancee
+of Edmund Allyn Poe, a magazine
+writer from the South, was found
+dead early this morning on the beach
+off E. 8th St.
+
+Poe seemed prostrated and, questioned
+by the police, said that one of her aristocratic
+relatives had taken her to the
+"seashore," but that the cold winds had
+given her "flu," from which she never
+"rallied."
+
+Detectives at work on the case believe,
+they say, that there was a suicide compact
+between the Poes and that Poe
+also intended to do away with himself.
+
+He refused to leave the spot where the
+woman's body had been found.
+
+
+
+
+("Curfew Must Not Ring To-night")
+
+=GIRL, HUMAN BELL-CLAPPER,
+SAVES DOOMED LOVER'S LIFE=
+
+=BRAVE ACT Of "BESSIE" SMITH
+HALTS CURFEW FROM RINGING
+AND MELTS CROMWELL'S
+HEART=
+
+(By Cable to _The Courier_)
+
+
+HUDDERSFIELD, KENT, ENGLAND.--Jan.
+15.--Swinging far out
+above the city, "Bessie" Smith, the
+young and beautiful fiancée of Basil
+Underwood, a prisoner incarcerated in
+the town jail, saved his life to-night.
+
+The woman went to "Jack" Hemingway,
+sexton of the First M. E. Church,
+and asked him to refrain from ringing
+the curfew bell last night, as Underwood's
+execution had been set for the
+hour when the bell was to ring. Hemingway
+refused, alleging it to be his
+duty to ring the bell.
+
+With a quick step Miss Smith bounded
+forward, sprang within the old church
+door, left the old man threading slowly
+paths which previously he had trodden,
+and mounted up to the tower. Climbing
+the dusty ladder in the dark, she is said
+to have whispered:
+
+"Curfew is not to ring this evening."
+
+Seizing the heavy tongue of the bell,
+as it was about to move, she swung far
+out suspended in mid-air, oscillating,
+thus preventing the bell from ringing.
+Hemingway's deafness prevented him
+from hearing the bell ring, but as he
+had been deaf for 20 years, he attributed
+no importance to the silence.
+
+As Miss Smith descended, she met
+Oliver Cromwell, the well-known lord
+protector, who had condemned Underwood
+to death. Hearing her story and
+noting her hands, bruised and torn, he
+said in part: "Go, your lover lives.
+Curfew shall not ring this evening."
+
+
+
+
+("The Ballad of the Tempest")
+
+=TOT'S FEW WORDS
+KEEP 117 SOULS
+FROM DIRE PANIC=
+
+=Babe's Query to Parent Saves Storm-Flayed
+Ship's Passengers Crowded
+in Cabin=
+
+FEARFUL THING IN WINTER
+
+
+BOSTON, MASS, Jan. 17--Cheered
+by the faith of little
+"Jennie" Carpenter, the 7-year-old
+daughter of Capt. B. L. Carpenter,
+of a steamer whose name could not be
+learned, 117 passengers on board were
+brought through panic early this morning
+while the storm was at its height,
+to shore.
+
+George H. Nebich, one of the passengers,
+told the following story to a
+COURIER reporter:
+
+"About midnight we were crowded in
+the cabin, afraid to sleep on account of
+the storm. All were praying, as Capt.
+Carpenter, staggering down the stairs,
+cried: 'We are lost!' It was then that
+little 'Jennie,' his daughter, took him
+by his hand and asked him whether he
+did not believe in divine omnipresence.
+All the passengers kissed the little
+'girlie' whose faith had so inspirited
+us."
+
+The steamer, it was said at the office
+of the company owning her, would leave
+as usual to-night for Portland.
+
+
+
+
+("Plain Language from Truthful James")
+
+=AH SIN, FAMED TONG MAN,
+BESTS BARD AT CARD TILT=
+
+="Celestial" Gambler, Feigning Ignorance
+of Euchre, Tricks Francis
+Bret Harte and "Bill" Nye
+into Heavy Losses--Solons
+to Probe Ochre Peril=
+
+
+SAN FRANCISCO, Aug. 3.--Francis
+B. Harte and E. W. Nye, a pair of local
+magazine writers, lost what is believed
+to be a large sum of money in a game
+of euchre played near the Bar-M mine
+this afternoon.
+
+There had been, Harte alleged, a
+three-handed game of euchre participated
+in by Nye, a Chinaman named Ah
+Sin and himself. The Chinaman, Harte
+asserted, did not understand the game,
+but, Harte declared, smiled as he sat by
+the table with what Harte termed was
+a "smile that was childlike and bland."
+
+Harte said that his feelings were
+shocked by the chicanery of Nye, but
+that the hands held by Ah Sin were
+unusual. Nye, maddened by the Chinaman's
+trickery, rushed at him, 24 packs
+of cards spilling from the tong-man's
+long sleeves. On his taper nails was
+found some wax.
+
+The "Mongolian," Harte said, is peculiar.
+
+Harte and Nye are thought to have
+lost a vast sum of money, as they are
+wealthy authors.
+
+The legislature, it is said, will investigate
+the question of the menace to
+American card-players by the so-called
+Yellow peril.
+
+
+
+
+("Excelsior")
+
+=DOG FINDS LAD
+DEAD IN DRIFT=
+
+=Unidentified Body of Young Traveler
+Found by Faithful Hound Near
+Small Alpine Village--White
+Mantle His Snowy Shroud=
+
+
+ST. BERNARD, Sept. 12.--Early
+this morning a dog belonging to the St.
+Bernard Monastery discovered the body
+of a young man, half buried in the
+snow.
+
+In his hand was clutched a flag with
+the word "Excelsior" printed on it.
+
+It is thought that he passed through
+the village last night, bearing the banner,
+and that a young woman had offered
+him shelter, which he refused,
+having answered "Excelsior."
+
+The police are working on the case.
+
+
+
+
+("The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers")
+
+=PILGRIM DADS
+LAND ON MASS.
+COAST TOWN=
+
+=Intrepid Band of Britons, Seeking
+Faith's Pure Shrine, Reach
+Rock-Bound Coast, Singing
+Amid Storm=
+
+
+PROVINCETOWN, MASS,
+Dec. 21--Poking her nose
+through the fog, the ship _Mayflower_,
+of Southampton, Jones, Master, limped
+into port to-night.
+
+On board were men with hoary hair
+and women with fearless eyes, 109 in
+all.
+
+Asked why they had made the journey,
+they alleged that religious freedom
+was the goal they sought here.
+
+The _Mayflower_ carried a cargo of antique
+furniture.
+
+Among those on board were William
+Bradford, M. Standish, Jno. Alden,
+Peregrine White, John Carver and
+others.
+
+Steps are being taken to organize a
+society of Mayflower Descendants.
+
+
+
+
+("The Bridge Of Sighs")
+
+=KINLESS YOUNG
+WOMAN, WEARY,
+TAKES OWN LIFE=
+
+=Body of Girl Found in River
+Tells Pitiful Story of
+Homelessness and Lack of
+Charity=
+
+
+LONDON, March 16.--The body of a
+young woman, her garments clinging
+like cerements, was found in the river
+late this afternoon.
+
+In the entire city she had no home.
+There are, according to the police, no
+relatives.
+
+The woman was young and slender
+and had auburn hair.
+
+No cause has been assigned for the
+act.
+
+
+
+
+Song of Synthetic Virility
+
+
+Oh, some may sing of the surging sea, or chant of the raging main;
+Or tell of the taffrail blown away by the raging hurricane.
+With an oh, for the feel of the salt sea spray as it stipples the
+  guffy's cheek!
+And oh, for the sob of the creaking mast and the halyard's aching
+  squeak!
+And some may sing of the galley-foist, and some of the quadrireme,
+And some of the day the xebec came and hit us abaft the beam.
+Oh, some may sing of the girl in Kew that died for a sailor's love,
+And some may sing of the surging sea, as I may have observed above.
+
+Oh, some may long for the Open Road, or crave for the prairie breeze,
+And some, o'ersick of the city's strain, may yearn for the whispering
+  trees.
+With an oh, for the rain to cool my face, and the wind to blow my hair!
+And oh, for the trail to Joyous Garde, where I may find my fair!
+And some may love to lie in the field in the stark and silent night,
+The glistering dew for a coverlet and the moon and stars for light.
+Let others sing of the soughing pines and the winds that rustle and
+  roar,
+And others long for the Open Road, as I may have remarked before.
+
+Ay, some may sing of the bursting bomb and the screech of a screaming
+  shell,
+Or tell the tale of the cruel trench on the other side of hell.
+And some may talk of the ten-mile hike in the dead of a winter night,
+And others chaunt of the doughtie Kyng with mickle valour dight.
+And some may long for the song of a child and the lullaby's fairy charm,
+And others yearn for the crack of the bat and the wind of the
+  pitcher's arm.
+Oh, some have longed for this and that, and others have craved and
+  yearned;
+And they all may sing of whatever they like, as far as I'm concerned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+
+Original variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have
+been retained.
+
+Bold text is surrounded by =.
+
+Italic text is surrounded by _.
+
+Page 71: The oe in Croesus was originally printed as a ligature.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Something Else Again, by Franklin P. Adams
+
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+  <head>
+    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
+    <title>
+      The Project Gutenberg eBook of Something Else Again, by Franklin P. Adams.
+    </title>
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+<pre>
+
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Something Else Again, by Franklin P. Adams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Something Else Again
+
+Author: Franklin P. Adams
+
+Release Date: October 7, 2008 [EBook #26797]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOMETHING ELSE AGAIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+</pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+<h1>SOMETHING<br />
+ELSE AGAIN</h1>
+
+<h3><i>By</i></h3>
+
+<h2>FRANKLIN P. ADAMS</h2>
+
+
+<h4><i>Author of</i><br />
+"<i>By and Large</i>," "<i>In Other Words</i>,"<br />
+"<i>Tobogganing on Parnassus</i>,"<br />
+"<i>Weights and Measures</i>,"<br />
+<i>Etc.</i></h4>
+
+
+<p class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;">
+<img src="images/image001.png" width="100" height="217" alt="" title="" />
+</p>
+
+
+<h4>DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY</h4>
+<h5>GARDEN CITY&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;   NEW YORK&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;   LONDON</h5>
+<h4>1920</h4>
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+
+
+
+<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1920.</p>
+
+
+<p class="center">DOUBLEDAY, PAGE &amp; COMPANY<br />
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF<br />
+TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,<br />
+INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</p>
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+
+
+
+
+<h2>To MONTAGUE GLASS</h2>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<h2>ACKNOWLEDGMENT</h2>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p class="center">The author wishes to thank the <i>New York Tribune</i>,
+<i>Life</i>, <i>Harper's Magazine</i>, <i>Collier's Weekly</i>, and <i>The Home
+Sector</i>, for their kind permission to include in this
+volume material which has appeared in their pages.</p></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg ix]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="toc">
+<tr><td align='left'>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">page</span></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Present Imperative</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Doughboy's Horace</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>From: Horace To: Phyllis</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Advising Chlo&euml;</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>To an Aged Cut-up&nbsp;&nbsp; I</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 8em;">II</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>His Monument</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_11">11</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Glycera Rediviva!</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>On a Wine of Horace's</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"What Flavour?"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Stalling of Q. H. F.</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>On the Flight of Time</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_16">16</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Last Laugh</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Again Endorsing the Lady&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; I</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 10.5em;">II</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Propertius's Bid for Immortality</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>A Lament</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Bon Voyage&mdash;and Vice Versa</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Fragment</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>On the Uses of Adversity</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>After Hearing "Robin Hood"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Maud Muller Mutatur</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Carlyles</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>If Amy Lowell Had Been James Whitcomb Riley</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>If the Advertising Man Had Been Gilbert</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>If the Advertising Man Had Been Praed, or Locker</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Georgie Porgie</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>On First Looking into Bee Palmer's Shoulders</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>To a Vers Librist</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_43">43</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>How Do You Tackle Your Work?</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Recuerdo</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>On Tradition</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Unshackled Thoughts on Chivalry, Romance, Adventure, Etc.</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Results Ridiculous</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Regarding (1) the U. S. and (2) New York</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Broadmindedness</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Jazzy Bard</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_56">56</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Lines on and from "Bartlett's Familiar Quotations"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thoughts in a Far Country</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>When You Meet a Man from Your Own Home Town</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Shepherd's Resolution</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"It Was a Famous Victory"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>On Profiteering</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Despite</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Return of the Soldier</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"I Remember, I Remember"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Higher Education</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>War and Peace</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Fifty-Fifty</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"So Shines a Good Deed in a Naughty World"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_71">71</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Vain Words</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_72">72</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>On the Importance of Being Earnest</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_73">73</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>It Happens in the B. R. Families</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_74">74</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Abelard and Helo&iuml;se</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Lines Written on the Sunny Side of Frankfort Street</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Fifty-Fifty</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_80">80</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>To Myrtilla</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>A Psalm of Labouring Life</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Ballade of Ancient Acts</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>To a Prospective Cook</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Variation on a Theme</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"Such Stuff as Dreams"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Ballad of the Murdered Merchant</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>A Gotham Garden of Verses</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Lines on Reading Frank J. Wilstach's "A Dictionary of Similes"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_94">94</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Dictaphone Bard</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Comfort of Obscurity</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Ballade of the Traffickers</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing The Conning Tower</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming The Conning Tower</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Thoughts on the Cosmos</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>On Environment</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_106">106</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>The Ballad of the Thoughtless Waiter</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_107">107</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Rus Vs. Urbs</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"I'm Out of the Army Now"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_110">110</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"Oh Man!"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>An Ode in Time of Inauguration</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_113">113</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>What the Copy Desk Might Have Done</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_124">124</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>Song of Synthetic Virility</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>SOMETHING ELSE AGAIN</h2>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Present_Imperative" id="Present_Imperative"></a>Present Imperative</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Book I, Ode 11</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Tu ne quaesieris&mdash;scire nefas&mdash;quem mihi; quem tibi&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+<p class="center">AD LEUCONOEN</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nay, query not, Leucono&euml;, the finish of the fable;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eliminate the worry as to what the years may hoard!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You only waste your time upon the Babylonian Table&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Slang for the Ouija board).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And as to whether Jupiter, the final, unsurpassed one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May add a lot of winters to our portion here below,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or this impinging season is to be our very last one&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Really, I'd hate to know.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Apply yourself to wisdom! Sweep the floor and wash the dishes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor dream about the things you'll do in 1928!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My counsel is to cease to sit and yearn about your wishes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cursing the throws of Fate.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My! how I have been chattering on matters sad and pleasant!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Endure with me a moment while I polish off a rhyme).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I were you, I think, I'd bother only with the present&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now is the only time.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Doughboys_Horace" id="The_Doughboys_Horace"></a>The Doughboy's Horace</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Book III, Ode 9</h4>
+
+<p class="center">"Donec eram gratus tibi&mdash;&mdash;"</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">HORACE, PVT. &mdash;&mdash;TH INFANTRY, A. E. F., WRITES:<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While I was fussing you at home<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You put the notion in my dome<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I was the Molasses Kid.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I batted strong. I'll say I did.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">LYDIA, ANYBURG, U. S. A., WRITES:<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While you were fussing me alone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To other boys my heart was stone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I was all that you could see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No girl had anything on me.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">HORACE:<br /></span></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well, say, I'm having some romance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With one Babette, of Northern France.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If that girl gave me the command<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd dance a jig in No Man's Land.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">LYDIA:<br /></span></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I, too, have got a young affair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With Charley&mdash;say, that boy is <i>there</i>!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd just as soon go out and die<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I thought it'd please that guy.<br /></span>
+</div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>
+
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">HORACE:<br /></span></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Suppose I can this foreign wren<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And start things up with you again?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suppose I promise to be good?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd love you, Lyd. I'll say I would.<br /></span>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">LYDIA:<br /></span></div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though Charley's good and handsome&mdash;<i>oh</i>, boy!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you're a stormy, fickle doughboy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go give the Hun his final whack,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I'll marry you when you come back.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p><hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>
+From: Horace<br />
+To: Phyllis<br />
+Subject: Invitation
+</h2>
+
+<h4>Book IV, Ode 11</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Est mihi nonum superantis annum&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Phyllis, I've a jar of wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Alban, B. C. 49),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Parsley wreaths, and, for your tresses,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ivy that your beauty blesses.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Shines my house with silverware;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Frondage decks the altar stair&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sacred vervain, a device<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For a lambkin's sacrifice.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Up and down the household stairs<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What a festival prepares!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Everybody's superintending&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">See the sooty smoke ascending!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What, you ask me, is the date<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the day we celebrate?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">13th April, month of Venus&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Birthday of my boss, M&aelig;cenas.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let me, Phyllis, say a word<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Touching Telephus, a bird<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ranking far too high above you;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(And the loafer doesn't love you).<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lessons, Phyllie, may be learned<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Pha&euml;ton&mdash;how he was burned!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And recall Bellerophon was<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One equestrian who thrown was.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Phyllis, of my loves the last,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My philandering days are past.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sing you, in your clear contralto,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Songs I write for the rialto.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Advising_Chloe" id="Advising_Chloe"></a>Advising Chlo&euml;</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Book I, Ode 23</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chlo&euml;&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Why shun me, my Chlo&euml;? Nor pistol nor bowie<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is mine with intention to kill.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet like a llama you run to your mamma;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You tremble as though you were ill.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No lion to rend you, no tiger to end you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'm tame as a bird in a cage.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That counsel maternal can run for <i>The Journal</i>&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You get me, I guess.... You're of age.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="To_An_Aged_Cut-up" id="To_An_Aged_Cut-up"></a>To An Aged Cut-up</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Book III, Ode 15</h4>
+
+
+<p class="center">I<br /><br />
+
+<i>"Uxor pauperis Ibyci,</i><br />
+<span class="i4"><i>Tandem nequiti&aelig; fige modum tu&aelig;&mdash;&mdash;"</i><br /></span>
+</p>
+
+<p class="center">IN CHLORIN</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dear Mrs. Ibycus, accept a little sound advice,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Your manners and your speech are over-bold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To chase around the sporty way you do is far from nice;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Believe me, darling, you are growing old.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now Pholo&euml; may fool around (she dances like a doe!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A d&eacute;butante has got to think of men;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But you were twenty-seven over thirty years ago&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You ought to be asleep at half-past ten.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Chloris, cut the ragging and the roses and the rum&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Delete the drink, or better, chop the booze!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go buy a skein of yarn and make the knitting needles hum,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And imitate the art of Sister Suse.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Chloris, lay off the flapper stuff;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What's fit for Pholo&euml;, a fluff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is not for Ibycus's wife&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A woman at your time of life!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ignore, old dame, such pleasures as<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shimmy and "the Bacchus Jazz";<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your presence with the maidens jars&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You are the cloud that dims the stars.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Your daughter Pholo&euml; may stay<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Out nights upon the Appian Way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her love for Nothus, as you know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Makes her as playful as a doe.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No jazz for you, no jars of wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No rose that blooms incarnadine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For one thing only are you fit:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Buy some Lucerian wool&mdash;and knit!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="His_Monument" id="His_Monument"></a>His Monument</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Book III, Ode 30</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Exegi monumentum aere perennius&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The monument that I have built is durable as brass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And loftier than the Pyramids which mock the years that pass.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor blizzard can destroy it, nor furious rain corrode&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Remember, I'm the bard that built the first Horatian ode.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I shall not altogether die; a part of me's immortal.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A part of me shall never pass the mortuary portal;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when I die my fame shall stand the nitric test of time&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fame of me of lowly birth, who built the lofty rhyme!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ay, fame shall be my portion when no trace there is of me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For I first made &AElig;olian songs the songs of Italy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Accept I pray, Melpomene, my modest meed of praise,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And crown my thinning, graying locks with wreaths of Delphic bays!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Glycera_Rediviva" id="Glycera_Rediviva"></a>Glycera Rediviva!</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Book I, Ode 19</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Mater s&aelig;va Cupidinum"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Venus, the cruel mother of<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Cupids (symbolising Love),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bids me to muse upon and sigh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For things to which I've said "Good-bye!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Believe me or believe me not,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I give this Glycera girl a lot:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pure Parian marble are her arms&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she has eighty other charms.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Venus has left her Cyprus home<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And will not let me pull a pome<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About the Parthians, fierce and rough,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Scythian war, and all that stuff.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Set up, O slaves, a verdant shrine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Uncork a quart of last year's wine!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Place incense here, and here verbenas,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And watch me while I jolly Venus!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_a_Wine_of_Horaces" id="On_a_Wine_of_Horaces"></a>On a Wine of Horace's</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What time I read your mighty line,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O Mr. Q. Horatius Flaccus,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In praise of many an ancient wine&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You twanged a wicked lyre to Bacchus!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wondered, like a Yankee hick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If that old stuff contained a kick.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So when upon a Paris card<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I glimpsed Falernian, I said: "Waiter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll emulate that ancient bard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And pass upon his merits later."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Professor Mendell, <i>quelque</i> sport,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Suggested that we split a quart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Flaccus, ere I ceased to drink<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Three glasses and a pair of highballs,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could not talk; I could not think;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For I was pickled to the eyeballs.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you sopped up Falernian wine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How did you ever write a line?<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="What_Flavour" id="What_Flavour"></a>"What Flavour?"</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Book III, Ode 13</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"O fons Bandusi&aelig;, splendidior vitro&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Worthy of flowers and syrups sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O fountain of Bandusian onyx,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To-morrow shall a goatling's bleat<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Mix with the sizz of thy carbonics.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A kid whose budding horns portend<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A life of love and war&mdash;but vainly!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For thee his sanguine life shall end&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He'll spill his blood, to put it plainly.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And never shalt thou feel the heat<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That blazes in the days of Sirius,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But men shall quaff thy soda sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And girls imbibe thy drinks delirious.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fountain whose dulcet cool I sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Be thou immortal by this Ode (a<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not wholly meretricious thing),<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bandusian fount of ice-cream soda!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Stalling_of_Q_H_F" id="The_Stalling_of_Q_H_F"></a>The Stalling of Q. H. F.</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Epode 14</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Mollis inertia cur tantam diffuderit imis"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">M&aelig;cenas, you fret me, you worry me<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Demanding I turn out a rhyme;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Insisting on reasons, you hurry me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You want my iambics on time.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You say my ambition's diminishing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You ask why my poem's not done.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The god it is keeps me from finishing<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The stuff I've begun.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Be not so persistent, so clamorous.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Anacreon burned with a flame<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Candescently, crescently amorous.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You rascal, you're doing the same!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was no fairer the flame that burned Ilium.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Cheer up, you're a fortunate scamp,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">... Consider avuncular William<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And Phryne, the vamp.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_the_Flight_of_Time" id="On_the_Flight_of_Time"></a>On the Flight of Time</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Book I, Ode 2</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Tu ne qu&aelig;sieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi"</i></p>
+
+<p class="center">AD LEUCONOEN</p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Look not, Leucono&euml;, into the future;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Seek not to find what the Answer may be;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let no Chaldean clairvoyant compute your<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Time of existence.... It irritates me!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Better to bear what may happen soever<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Patiently, playing it through like a sport,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whether the end of your breathing is Never,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or, as is likely, your time will be short.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This is the angle, the true situation;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Get me, I pray, for I'm putting you hep:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While I've been fooling with versification<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Time has been flying.... Both gates!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Watch your step!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Last_Laugh" id="The_Last_Laugh"></a>The Last Laugh</h2>
+
+<h4>Horace: Epode 15</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Nox erat et c&aelig;lo fulgebat Luna sereno&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"How sweet the moonlight sleeps," I quoted,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"Upon this bank!" that starry night&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The night you vowed you'd be devoted&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'll tell the world you held me tight.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The night you said until Orion<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Should cease to whip the wintry sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Until the lamb should love the lion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You would, you swore, be all for me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Some day, Ne&aelig;ra, you'll be sorry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">No mollycoddle swain am I.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shall not sit and pine, by gorry!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Because you're with some other guy!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No, I shall turn my predilection<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Upon some truer, fairer Jane;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all your prayer and genuflexion<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For my return shall be in vain.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And as for <i>you</i>, who choose to sneer, O,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Though deals in lands and stocks you swing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though handsome as a movie hero,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Though wise you are&mdash;and everything;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet, when the loss of her you're mourning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How I shall laugh at all your woe!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How I'll remind you of this warning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And laugh, "Ha! ha! I told you so!"<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Again_Endorsing_the_Lady" id="Again_Endorsing_the_Lady"></a>Again Endorsing the Lady</h2>
+
+<h4>Book II, Elegy 2</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+
+<p class="center">I</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was free. I thought that I had entered Love's Antarctic Zone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights shall be my own."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But Love has double-crossed me. How can Beauty be so fair?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The grace of her, the face of her&mdash;and oh, her yellow hair!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth a goddess glide.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jove's sister&mdash;ay, or Pallas&mdash;hath no statelier a stride.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair as Ischomache herself, the Lapithanian maid;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or Brimo when at Mercury's side her virgin form she laid.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the shepherd spied!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures aside!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And though she reach the countless years of the Cum&aelig;an Sibyl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May never, never Age at those delightful features nibble!<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<p class="center">II</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I thought that I was wholly free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That I had Love upon the shelf;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Hereafter," I declared in glee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"I'll have my evenings to myself."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How can such mortal beauty live?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Ah, Jove, thine errings I forgive!)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Her tresses pale the sunlight's gold;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Her hands are featly formed, and taper;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her&mdash;well, the rest ought not be told<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In any modest family paper.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fair as Ischomache, and bright<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As Brimo. <i>Qu&aelig;que</i> queen is right.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O goddesses of long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A shepherd called ye sweet and slender.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He saw ye, so he ought to know;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But sooth, to her ye must surrender.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O may a million years not trace<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A single line upon that face!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Propertiuss_Bid_for_Immortality" id="Propertiuss_Bid_for_Immortality"></a>Propertius's Bid for Immortality</h2>
+
+<h4>Book III, Ode 3</h4>
+
+<p class="center">"<i>Carminis interea nostri red&aelig;mus in orbem&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let us return, then, for a time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To our accustomed round of rhyme;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And let my songs' familiar art<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not fail to move my lady's heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They say that Orpheus with his lute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had power to tame the wildest brute;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That "Variations on a Theme"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of his would stay the swiftest stream.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They say that by the minstrel's song<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Cith&aelig;ron's rocks were moved along<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Thebes, where, as you may recall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They formed themselves to frame a wall.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Galatea, lovely maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Beneath wild Etna's fastness stayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Her horses, dripping with the mere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those Polypheman songs to hear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">What marvel, then, since Bacchus and<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Apollo grasp me by the hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That all the maidens you have heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Should hang upon my slightest word?<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">T&aelig;nerian columns in my home<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are not; nor any golden dome;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No parks have I, nor Marcian spring,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor orchards&mdash;nay, nor anything.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Muses, though, are friends of mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some readers love my lyric line;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And never is Calliope<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Awearied by my poetry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O happy she whose meed of praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hath fallen upon my sheaf of lays!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And every song of mine is sent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be thy beauty's monument.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Pyramids that point the sky,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The House of Jove that soars so high,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mausolus' tomb&mdash;they are not free<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Death his final penalty.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For fire or rain shall steal away<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The crumbling glory of their day;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But fame for wit can never die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And gosh! I was a gay old guy!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_Lament" id="A_Lament"></a>A Lament</h2>
+
+<h4>Propertius: Book II, Elegy 8</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Eripitur nobis iam pridem cara puella&mdash;&mdash;"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">While she I loved is being torn<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From arms that held her many years,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost thou regard me, friend, with scorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or seek to check my tears?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bitter the hatred for a jilt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And hot the hates of Eros are;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My hatred, slay me an thou wilt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For thee'd be gentler far.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Can I endure that she recline<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Upon another's arm? Shall they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No longer call that lady "mine"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who "mine" was yesterday?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For Love is fleeting as the hours.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The town of Thebes is draped with moss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Ilium's well-known topless towers<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are now a total loss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Fell Thebes and Troy; and in the grave<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Have fallen lords of high degree.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What songs I sang! What gifts I gave!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">... <i>She</i> never fell for me.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Bon_Voyage_and_Vice_Versa" id="Bon_Voyage_and_Vice_Versa"></a>Bon Voyage&mdash;and Vice Versa</h2>
+
+<h4>Propertius: Elegy VIII, Part 1</h4>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Tune igitur demens, nec te mea cura moratur?"</i></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Cynthia, hast thou lost thy mind?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Have I no claim on thine affection?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dost love the chill Illyrian wind<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With something passing predilection?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And is thy friend&mdash;whoe'er he be&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The kind to take the place of <i>me</i>?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ah, canst thou bear the surging deep?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Canst thou endure the hard ship's-mattress?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For scant will be thy hours of sleep<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From Staten Island to Cape Hatt'ras;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And won't thy fairy feet be froze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With treading on the foreign snows?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I hope that doubly blows the gale,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With billows twice as high as ever,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So that the captain, fain to sail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">May not achieve his mad endeavour!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The winds, when that they cease to roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall find me wailing on the shore.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet merit thou my love or wrath,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O False, I pray that Galatea<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">May smile upon thy watery path!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A pleasant trip,&mdash;that's the idea.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Light of my life, there never shall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For me be any other gal.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And sailors, as they hasten past,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will always have to hear my query:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Where have you seen my Cynthia last?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Has anybody seen my dearie?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll shout: "In Malden or Marquette<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where'er she be, I'll have her yet!"<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Fragment" id="Fragment"></a>Fragment</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Militis in galea nidum fecere columb&aelig;."</i>&mdash;<small>PETRONIUS</small></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Within the soldier's helmet see<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The nesting dove;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Venus and Mars, it seems to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">In love.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_the_Uses_of_Adversity" id="On_the_Uses_of_Adversity"></a>On the Uses of Adversity</h2>
+
+<p class="center"><i>"Nam nihil est, quod non mortalibus afferat usum."</i>&mdash;<small>PETRONIUS</small></p>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Nothing there is that mortal man may utterly despise;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What in our wealth we treasured, in our poverty we prize.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The gold upon a sinking ship has often wrecked the boat,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While on a simple oar a shipwrecked man may keep afloat.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The burglar seeks the plutocrat, attracted by his dress&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The poor man finds his poverty the true preparedness.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="After_Hearing_Robin_Hood" id="After_Hearing_Robin_Hood"></a>After Hearing "Robin Hood"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The songs of Sherwood Forest<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are lilac-sweet and clear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The virile rhymes of merrier times<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Sound fair upon mine ear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sweet is their sylvan cadence<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And sweet their simple art.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The balladry of the greenwood tree<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Stirs memories in my heart.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O braver days and elder<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With mickle valour dight,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How ye bring back the time, alack!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When Harry Smith could write!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Maud_Muller_Mutatur" id="Maud_Muller_Mutatur"></a>Maud Muller Mutatur</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>In 1909 toilet goods were
+not considered a serious
+matter and no special department
+of the catalogs
+was devoted to it. A few
+perfumes and creams were
+scattered here and there
+among bargain goods.</p>
+
+<p>In 1919 an assortment of
+perfumes that would rival
+any city department store
+is shown, along with six
+pages of other toilet articles,
+including rouge and
+eyebrow pencils.</p>
+
+<p><i>&mdash;From "How the Farmer Has Changed in a Decade:
+Toilet Goods," in Farm and Fireside's advertisement.</i></p></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Maud Muller, on a summer's day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Powdered her nose with <i>Bon Sachet</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Beneath her lingerie hat appeared<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Eyebrows and cheeks that were well veneered.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Singing she rocked on the front piazz,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the tune of "The Land of the Sky Blue Jazz."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But the song expired on the summer air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she said "This won't get me anywhere."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The judge in his car looked up at her<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And signalled "Stop!" to his brave chauffeur.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He smiled a smile that is known as broad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he said to Miss Muller, "Hello, how's Maud?"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What sultry weather this is? Gee whiz!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said Maud. Said the judge, "I'll say it is."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Your coat is heavy. Why don't you shed it?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have a drink?" said Maud. Said the judge, "You said it."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Maud, with the joy of bucolic youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Blended some gin and some French vermouth.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Maud Muller sighed, as she poured the gin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I've got something on Whittier's heroine."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Thanks," said the judge, "a peppier brew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a fairer hand was never knew."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when the judge had had number 7,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Maud seemed an angel direct from Heaven.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the judge declared, "You're a lovely girl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I'm for you, Maudie, I'll tell the worl'."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And the judge said, "Marry me, Maudie dearie?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Maud said yes to the well known query.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And she often thinks, in her rustic way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As she powders her nose with <i>Bon Sachet</i>,<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I never'n the world would 'a got that guy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I'd waited till after the First o' July."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And of all glad words of prose or rhyme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The gladdest are, "Act while there yet is time."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Carlyles" id="The_Carlyles"></a>The Carlyles</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>[I was talking with a newspaper man the other day
+who seemed to think that the fact that Mrs. Carlyle
+threw a teacup at Mr. Carlyle should be given to the
+public merely as a fact.</p>
+
+<p>But a fact presented to people without the proper&mdash;or
+even, if necessary, without the improper&mdash;human
+being to go with it does not mean anything and does
+not really become alive or caper about in people's minds.</p>
+
+<p>But what I want and what I believe most people want
+when a fact is being presented is one or two touches
+that will make natural and human questions rise in and
+play about like this:</p>
+
+<p>"Did a servant see Mrs. Carlyle throw the teacup?
+Was the servant an English servant with an English
+imagination or an Irish servant with an Irish imagination?
+What would the fact have been like if Mr.
+Browning had been listening at the keyhole? Or Oscar
+Wilde, or Punch, or the Missionary Herald, or The New
+York Sun, or the Christian Science Monitor?"&mdash;<span class="smcap">Gerald
+Stanley Lee</span> in the Satevepost.]</p></div>
+
+
+<h4>BY OUR OWN ROBERT BROWNING</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As a poet heart- and fancy-free&mdash;whole,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I listened at the Carlyles' keyhole;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I saw, I, Robert Browning, saw,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tom hurl a teacup at Jane's jaw.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She silent sat, nor tried to speak up<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When came the wallop with the teacup&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A cup not filled with Beaune or Clicquot,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But one that brimmed with Orange Pekoe.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Jane Welsh Carlyle," said Thomas, bold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"The tea you brewed for m' breakfast's cold!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm feeling low i' my mind; a thing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You know b' this time. Have at you!"... Bing!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hurled, threw he at her the teacup;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I wrote it, deeming it unique, up.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+
+<h4>BY OUR OWN OSCAR WILDE</h4>
+
+<p><span class="smcap">Lady Leffingwell</span> (<i>coldly</i>).&mdash;A full teacup!
+What a waste! So many good women
+and so little good tea.</p>
+
+<p class="center">[<i>Exit Lady Leffingwell</i>]</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+
+<h4>FROM OUR OWN "PUNCH"</h4>
+
+<p>A <span class="smcap">Manchester</span> autograph collector, we are
+informed, has just offered &pound;50 for the signature
+of Tea Carlyle.</p>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+
+<h4>FROM OUR OWN "MISSIONARY HERALD"</h4>
+
+<p>From what clouds cannot sunshine be distilled!
+When, in a fit of godless rage, Mr.
+Carlyle threw a teacup at the good woman he
+had vowed at the altar to love, honour, and
+obey, she smiled and the thought of China
+entered her head.</p>
+
+<p>Yesterday Mrs. Carlyle enrolled as a missionary,
+and will sail for the benighted land
+of the heathen to-morrow.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+
+<h4>FROM OUR OWN "NEW YORK SUN"</h4>
+
+<p>Fortunate is <span class="smcap">Mrs. Jane Welsh Carlyle</span>
+to have escaped with her life, though if she
+had not, no American worthy of the traditions
+of Washington could simulate acute
+sorrow. <span class="smcap">Mr. Carlyle</span>, wearied of the dilatory
+methods of the <span class="smcap">Bakerian</span> War Department,
+properly took the law into his own
+strong hands.</p>
+
+<p>The argument that resulted in the teacup's
+leaving <span class="smcap">Mr. Carlyle's</span> hands was common in
+most households. It transpires that <span class="smcap">Mrs.
+Carlyle</span>, with a Bolshevistic tendency that
+makes patriots wonder what the Department
+of Justice&mdash;to borrow a phrase from a newspaper
+cartoonist&mdash;thinks about, had been
+championing the British-Wilson League of
+Nations, that league which will make ironically
+true our "E Pluribus Unum"&mdash;one of
+many. Repeated efforts by <span class="smcap">Mr. Carlyle</span>, in
+appeals to the Department of Justice, the
+Military Intelligence Division, and the City
+Government, were of no avail. And so <span class="smcap">Mr.
+Carlyle</span>, like the red-blooded American he
+is, did what the authorities should have saved
+him the embarrassing trouble of doing.</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+
+<h4>FROM OUR OWN "CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR"</h4>
+
+<p>It is reported that Mr. Thomas Carlyle has
+thrown a teacup at Mrs. Carlyle, and much
+exaggerated and acrid comment has been
+made on this incident.</p>
+
+<p>If it had been a whiskey glass, or a cocktail
+glass, the results might have been fatal.
+In Oregon, which went dry in 1916, the number
+of women hit by crockery has decreased
+4.2 per cent in three years. Of 1,844 women
+in Oregon hit by crockery in 1915, 1,802 were
+hit by glasses containing, or destined to contain,
+alcoholic stimulants. More than 94 per
+cent of these accidents resulted fatally. The
+remaining 22 women, hit by tea or coffee
+cups, are now happy, useful members of
+society.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="If_Amy_Lowell_Had_Been_James" id="If_Amy_Lowell_Had_Been_James"></a>If Amy Lowell Had Been James
+Whitcomb Riley</h2>
+
+
+<h4>A DECADE</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When you came you were like red wine and honey,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Now you are like morning bread&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Smooth and pleasant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I am completely nourished.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Amy Lowell,</span> in <i>The Chim&aelig;ra</i>.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When I wuz courtin' Annie, she wuz honey an' red wine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She made me feel all jumpy, did that ol' sweetheart o' mine;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wunst w'en I went to Crawfordsville, on one o' them there trips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I kissed her&mdash;an' the burnin' taste wuz sizzlin' on my lips.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' now I've married Annie, an' I see her all the time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I do not feel the daily need o' bustin' into rhyme.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An' now the wine-y taste is gone, fer Annie's always there,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">An' I take her fer granted now, the same ez sun an' air.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But though the honey taste wuz sweet, an' though the wine wuz strong,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet ef I lost the sun an' air, I couldn't git along.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="If_the_Advertising_Man_Had" id="If_the_Advertising_Man_Had"></a>If the Advertising Man Had
+Been Gilbert</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Never mind that slippery wet street&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The tire with a thousand claws will hold you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Stop as quickly as you will&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those thousand claws grip the road like a vise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Turn as sharply as you will&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Those thousand claws take a steel-prong grip on the road to prevent a side skid.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You're safe&mdash;safer than anything else will make you&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Safe as you would be on a perfectly dry street.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;<i>From the Lancaster Tire and Rubber Company's</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>advertisement in the Satevepost.</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Never mind it if you find it wet upon the street and slippery;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Never bother if the street is full of ooze;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do not fret that you'll upset, that you will spoil your summer frippery,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You may turn about as sharply as you choose.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For those myriad claws will grip the road and keep the car from skidding,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>
+<span class="i1">And your steering gear will hold it fast and true;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Every atom of the car will be responsive to your bidding,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">AND those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Oh, indubitably,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>If the Advertising Man Had
+Been Praed, or Locker</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"C'est distingue," says Madame La Mode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">'Tis a fabric of subtle distinction.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For street wear it is superb.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The chic of the Rue de la Paix&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The style of Fifth Avenue&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The character of Regent Street&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All are expressed in this new fabric creation.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Leather-like but feather-light&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It drapes and folds and distends to perfection.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And it may be had in dull or glazed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Plain or grained, basket weave or moir&eacute;d surfaces!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;Advertisement of Pontine, in <i>Vanity Fair</i>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"C'est distingue," says Madame La Mode.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Subtly distinctive as a fabric fair;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor Keats nor Shelley in his loftiest ode<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Could thrum the line to tell how it will wear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The flair, the chic that is Rue de la Paix,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The style that is Fifth Avenue, New York.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The character of Regent Street in May&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As leather strong, yet light as any cork.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All these for her in this fair fabric clad.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(Light of my life, O thou my Genevieve!)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In surface dull or glazed it may be had&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In plain or grained, moir&eacute;d or basket weave.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Georgie_Porgie" id="Georgie_Porgie"></a>Georgie Porgie</h2>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">By Mother Goose and Our Own Sara Teasdale</span></h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bennie's kisses left me cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Eddie's made me yearn to die,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jimmie's made me laugh aloud,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But Georgie's made me cry.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bennie sees me every night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Eddie sees me every day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Jimmie sees me all the time,&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But Georgie stays away.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_First_Looking_into_Bee" id="On_First_Looking_into_Bee"></a>On First Looking into Bee
+Palmer's Shoulders</h2>
+
+<h4>WITH BOWS TO KEATS AND KEITH'S</h4>
+
+<p class="center">["The World's Most Famous Shoulders"]</p>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>"Then felt I like some watcher of the skies</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1"><i>When a new planet swims into his ken,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1"><i>He stared at the Pacific&mdash;and all his men</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>Looked at each other with a wild surmise&mdash;</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1"><i>Silent upon a peak in Darien."</i><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"Bee" Palmer has taken the raw, human&mdash;all too
+human&mdash;stuff of the underworld, with its sighs of sadness
+and regret, its mad merriment, its swift blaze of
+passion, its turbulent dances, its outlaw music, its songs
+of the social bandit, and made a new art product of the
+theatre. She is to the sources of jazz and the blues
+what Fran&ccedil;ois Villon was to the wild life of Paris.
+Both have found exquisite blossoms of art in the sector
+of life most removed from the concert room and the
+boudoir, and their harvest has the vigour, the resolute
+life, the stimulating quality, the indelible impress of
+daredevil, care-free, do-as-you-please lives of the picturesque
+men and women who defy convention.&mdash;From
+Keith's Press Agent.</p></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Much have I travell'd in the realms of jazz,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And many goodly arms and shoulders seen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quiver and quake&mdash;if you know what I mean;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've seen a lot, as everybody has.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some plaudits got, while others got the razz.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But when I saw Bee Palmer, shimmy queen,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shook&mdash;in sympathy&mdash;my troubled bean,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And said, "This is the utter razmataz."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then felt I like some patient with a pain<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When a new surgeon swims into his ken,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or like stout Brodie, when, with reeling brain,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He jumped into the river. There and then<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I subwayed up and took the morning train<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Norwalk, Naugatuck, and Darien.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="To_a_Vers_Librist" id="To_a_Vers_Librist"></a>To a Vers Librist</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh bard," I said, "your verse is free;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The shackles that encumber me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The fetters that are my obsession,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are never gyves to your expression.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The fear of falsities in rhyme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In metre, quantity, or time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is never yours; you sing along<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your unpremeditated song."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Correct," the young vers librist said.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Whatever pops into my head<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I write, and have but one small fetter:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I start each line with a capital letter.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But rhyme and metre&mdash;Ishkebibble!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are actually neglig<i>ib</i>le.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I go ahead, like all my school,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Without a single silly rule."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of rhyme I am so reverential<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He made me feel inconsequential.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I shed some strongly saline tears<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For bards I loved in younger years.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"If Keats had fallen for your fluff,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I said, "he might have done good stuff.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If Burns had thrown his rhymes away,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His songs might still be sung to-day."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O bards of rhyme and metre free,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My gratitude goes out to ye<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For all your deathless lines&mdash;ahem!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Let's see, now.... What <i>is</i> one of them?<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="How_Do_You_Tackle_Your_Work" id="How_Do_You_Tackle_Your_Work"></a>How Do You Tackle Your Work?</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How do you tackle your work each day?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are you scared of the job you find?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do you grapple the task that comes your way<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With a confident, easy mind?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do you stand right up to the work ahead<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or fearfully pause to view it?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Do you start to toil with a sense of dread?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or feel that you're going to do it?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You can do as much as you think you can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But you'll never accomplish more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you're afraid of yourself, young man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">There's little for you in store.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For failure comes from the inside first,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It's there if we only knew it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you can win, though you face the worst,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If you feel that you're going to do it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Success! It's found in the soul of you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And not in the realm of luck!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world will furnish the work to do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But you must provide the pluck.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You can do whatever you think you can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It's all in the way you view it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It's all in the start that you make, young man:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You must feel that you're going to do it.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How do you tackle your work each day?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With confidence clear, or dread?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What to yourself do you stop and say<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When a new task lies ahead?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">What is the thought that is in your mind?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is fear ever running through it?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If so, just tackle the next you find<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">By thinking you're going to do it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;From "A Heap o' Livin'," by Edgar A. Guest<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I tackle my terrible job each day<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With a fear that is well defined;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I grapple the task that comes my way<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With no confidence in my mind.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I try to evade the work ahead,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As I fearfully pause to view it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I start to toil with a sense of dread,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And doubt that I'm going to do it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I can't do as much as I think I can,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I never accomplish more.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am scared to death of myself, old man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As I may have observed before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've read the proverbs of Charley Schwab,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Carnegie, and Marvin Hughitt;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But whenever I tackle a difficult job,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O gosh! how I hate to do it!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I try to believe in my vaunted power<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With that confident kind of bluff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But somebody tells me The Conning Tower<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is nothing but awful stuff.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I take up my impotent pen that night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And idly and sadly chew it,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I try to write something merry and bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I know that I shall not do it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And that's how I tackle my work each day&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With terror and fear and dread&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all I can see is a long array<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of empty columns ahead.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And those are the thoughts that are in my mind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And that's about all there's to it.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As long as it's work, of whatever kind,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'm certain I cannot do it.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Recuerdo" id="Recuerdo"></a>Recuerdo</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We were very tired, we were very merry&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We lay on the hill-top underneath the moon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We were very tired, we were very merry&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">We were very tired, we were very merry,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Edna St. Vincent Millay,</span> <i>in Poetry</i>.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was very sad, I was very solemn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had worked all day grinding out a column.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I came back from dinner at half-past seven,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I couldn't think of anything till quarter to eleven;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then I read "Recuerdo," by Miss Millay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I said, "I'll bet a nickel I can write that way."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was very sad, I was very solemn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had worked all day whittling out a column.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I said, "I'll bet a nickel I can chirp such a chant,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Mr. Geoffrey Parsons said, "I'll bet you can't."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bit a chunk of chocolate and found it sweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I listened to the trucking on Frankfort Street.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I was very sad, I was very solemn&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I had worked all day fooling with a column.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I got as far as this and took my verses in<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Mr. Geoffrey Parsons, who said, "Kid, you win."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;not that I imagine that any one'll care&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I blew that jitney on a subway fare.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_Tradition" id="On_Tradition"></a>On Tradition</h2>
+
+<h4>LINES PROVOKED BY HEARING A YOUNG MAN WHISTLING</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">No carmine radical in Art,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I worship at the shrine of Form;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet open are my mind and heart<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To each departure from the norm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When Post-Impressionism emerged,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I hesitated but a minute<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Before I saw, though it diverged,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That there was something healthy in it.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And eke when Music, heavenly maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Undid the chains that chafed her feet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I grew to like discordant shade&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Unharmony I thought was sweet.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When verse divorced herself from sound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I wept at first. Now I say: "Oh, well,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see some sense in Ezra Pound,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And nearly some in Amy Lowell."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet, though I storm at every change,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And each mutation makes me wince,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am not shut to all things strange&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'm rather easy to convince.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But hereunto I set my seal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My nerves awry, askew, abristling:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>I'll never change the way I feel</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1"><i>Upon the question of Free Whistling.</i><br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Unshackled_Thoughts_on_Chivalry" id="Unshackled_Thoughts_on_Chivalry"></a>Unshackled Thoughts on Chivalry,
+Romance, Adventure, Etc.</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yesterday afternoon, while I was<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">walking on Worth Street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A gust of wind blew my hat off.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I swore, petulantly, but somewhat noisily.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A young woman had been near, walking behind me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She must have heard me, I thought.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I was ashamed, and embarrassedly sorry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I said to her: "If you heard me, I beg your pardon."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But she gave me a frightened look<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ran across the street,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Seeking a policeman.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So I thought, Why waste five hours trying to versify the incident?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Vers libre would serve her right.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Results_Ridiculous" id="Results_Ridiculous"></a>Results Ridiculous</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>("Humourists have amused themselves by translating
+famous sonnets into free verse. A result no less ridiculous
+would have been obtained if somebody had rewritten
+a passage from 'Paradise Lost' as a rondeau."&mdash;<span class="smcap">George
+Soule</span> in the <i>New Republic</i>.)</p></div>
+
+
+<h4>"PARADISE LOST"</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sing, Heavenly Muse, in lines that flow<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">More smoothly than the wandering Po,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of man's descending from the height<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of Heaven itself, the blue, the bright,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Hell's unutterable throe.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of sin original and the woe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That fell upon us here below<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">From man's pomonic primal bite&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Sing, Heavenly Muse!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of summer sun, of winter snow,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of future days, of long ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of morning and "the shades of night,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Of woman, "my ever new delight,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go to it, Muse, and put us joe&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Sing, Heavenly Muse!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>
+</div>
+
+<div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+<h4>"THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER"</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The wedding guest sat on a stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He could not choose but hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The mariner. They were there alone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wedding guest sat on a stone.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I'll read you something of my own,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Declared that mariner.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The wedding guest sat on a stone&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He could not choose but hear.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Regarding_1_the_U_S_and_2" id="Regarding_1_the_U_S_and_2"></a>Regarding (1) the U. S. and (2)
+New York</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Before I was a travelled bird,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I scoffed, in my provincial way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At other lands; I deemed absurd<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All nations but these U. S. A.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;although Middle-Western born&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Before I was a travelled guy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I laughed at, with unhidden scorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All cities but New York, N. Y.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But now I've been about a bit&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How travel broadens! How it does!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I have found out this, to wit:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How right I was! How right I was!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Broadmindedness" id="Broadmindedness"></a>Broadmindedness</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">How narrow his vision, how cribbed and confined!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How prejudiced all of his views!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How hard is the shell of his bigoted mind!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How difficult he to excuse!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His face should be slapped and his head should be banged;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A person like that ought to die!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I want to be fair, but a man should be hanged<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who's any less liberal than I.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Jazzy_Bard" id="The_Jazzy_Bard"></a>The Jazzy Bard</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Labor is a thing I do not like;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Workin's makes me want to go on strike;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sittin' in an office on a sunny afternoon,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thinkin' o' nothin' but a ragtime tune.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Cause I got the blues, I said I got the blues,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I got the paragraphic blues.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Been a-sittin' here since ha' pas' ten,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bitin' a hole in my fountain pen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Brain's all stiff in the creakin' joints,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can't make up no wheezes on the Fourteen Points;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can't think o' nothin' 'bout the end o' booze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">'Cause I got the para&mdash;, I said the paragraphic, I mean the column conductin' blues.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Lines_on_and_from_Bartletts" id="Lines_on_and_from_Bartletts"></a>Lines on and from "Bartlett's
+Familiar Quotations"</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>("Sir: For the first time in twenty-three years 'Bartlett's
+Familiar Quotations' has been revised and enlarged,
+and under separate cover we are sending you a
+copy of the new edition. We would appreciate an
+expression of opinion from you of the value of this
+work after you have had an ample opportunity of
+examining it."&mdash;<span class="smcap">The Publishers</span>.)</p></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of making many books there is no end&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So Sancho Panza said, and so say I.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou wert my guide, philosopher and friend<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When only one is shining in the sky.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Books cannot always please, however good;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The good is oft interred with their bones.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To be great is to be misunderstood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I never write as funny as I can.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Remote, unfriended, studious let me sit<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And say to all the world, "This was a man!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Go, lovely Rose that lives its little hour!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Go, little booke! and let who will be clever!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Roll on! From yonder ivy-mantled tower<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The moon and I could keep this up forever.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Thoughts_in_a_Far_Country" id="Thoughts_in_a_Far_Country"></a>Thoughts in a Far Country</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I rise and applaud, in the patriot manner,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Whenever (as often) I hear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The palpitant strains of "The Star Spangled Banner,"&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">I shout and cheer.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And also, to show my unbounded devotion,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I jump to me feet with a "Whee!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whenever "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean"<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Is played near me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">My fervour's so hot and my ardour so searing&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'm hoarse for a couple of days&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You've heard me, I'm positive, joyously cheering<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">"The Marseillaise."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I holler for "Dixie." I go off my noodle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I whistle, I pound, and I stamp<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whenever an orchestra plays "Yankee Doodle,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Or "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But if you would enter my confidence, Reader,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Know that I'd go clean off my dome,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And madly embrace any orchestra leader<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">For "Home, Sweet Home."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="When_You_Meet_a_Man_from_Your" id="When_You_Meet_a_Man_from_Your"></a>When You Meet a Man from Your
+Own Home Town</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sing, O Muse, in the treble clef,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A little song of the A. E. F.,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And pardon me, please, if I give vent<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To something akin to sentiment.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But we have our moments Over Here<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When we want to cry and we want to cheer;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the hurrah feeling will not down<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you meet a man from your own home town.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It's many a lonesome, longsome day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Since you embarked from the U. S. A.,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you met some men&mdash;it's a great big war&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From towns that you never had known before;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you landed here, and your rest camp mate<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was a man from some strange and distant state.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Liked him? Yes; but you wanted to see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A man from the town where you used to be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And then you went, by design or chance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All over the well-known map of France;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you yearned with a yearn that grew and grew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To talk with a man from the burg you knew.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some lugubrious morning when<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Your morale is batting about .110,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Where are you from?" and you make reply,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the O. D. warrior says, "So am I."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The universe wears a smiling face<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As you spill your talk of the old home place;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You talk of the streets, and the home town jokes,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you find that you know each other's folks;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And you haven't any more woes at all<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As you both decide that the world <i>is</i> small&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A statement adding to its renown<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you meet a man from your own home town.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You may be among the enlisted men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You may be a Lieut. or a Major-Gen.;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Your home may be up in the Chilkoot Pass,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In Denver, Col., or in Pittsfield, Mass.;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You may have come from Chicago, Ill.,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Buffalo, Portland, or Louisville&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But there's nothing, I'm gambling, can keep you down,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When you meet a man from your own home town.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If you want to know why I wrote this pome,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Well ... I've just had a talk with a guy from home.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Shepherds_Resolution" id="The_Shepherds_Resolution"></a>The Shepherd's Resolution</h2>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i8"><i>If she be not so to me,</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i8"><i>What care I how fair she be?</i><br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i20">&mdash;<span class="smcap">Wither.</span><br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4>BY OUR OWN JEROME D. KERN, AUTHOR OF
+"YOU'RE HERE AND I'M HERE"</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I don't care if a girl is fair<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she doesn't seem beautiful to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I won't waste away if she's fair as day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or prettier than meadows in the month of May;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As long as you are there for me to see,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't care and you don't care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many others are beyond compare&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You're the only one I like to have around.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I won't mind if she's everything combined,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If she doesn't seem wonderful to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I won't fret if she's everybody's pet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or considered by all as the one best bet;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As long as you and I are only we,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I don't care and you don't care<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How many others are beyond compare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You're the only one I like to have around.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="It_Was_a_Famous_Victory" id="It_Was_a_Famous_Victory"></a>"It Was a Famous Victory"</h2>
+
+<h4>(1944)</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It was a summer evening;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Old Kaspar was at home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sitting before his cottage door&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Like in the Southey pome&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And near him, with a magazine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Idled his grandchild, Geraldine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Why don't you ask me," Kaspar said<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To the child upon the floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Why don't you ask me what I did<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When I was in the war?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They told me that each little kid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Would surely ask me what I did.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I've had my story ready<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For thirty years or more."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Don't bother, Grandpa," said the child;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"I find such things a bore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pray leave me to my magazine,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Asserted little Geraldine.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then entered little Peterkin,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To whom his gaffer said:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"You'd like to hear about the war?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How I was left for dead?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"No. And, besides," declared the youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"How do I know you speak the truth?"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Arose that wan, embittered man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The hero of this pome,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And walked, with not unsprightly step,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Down to the Soldiers' Home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where he, with seven other men,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sat swapping lies till half-past ten.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_Profiteering" id="On_Profiteering"></a>On Profiteering</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Although I hate<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A profiteer<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With unabat-<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Ed loathing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though I detest<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The price they smear<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">On pants and vest<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And clothing;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet I admit<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My meed of crime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nor do one whit<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Regret it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'd triple my<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Price for a rhyme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If I thought I<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Could get it.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Despite" id="Despite"></a>Despite</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The terrible things that the Governor<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of Kansas says alarm me;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet somehow we won the war<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In spite of the Regular Army.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The things they say of the old N. G.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Are bitter and cruel and hard;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet we walloped the enemy<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In spite of the National Guard.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Too late, too late, was our work begun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Too late were our forces sent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet we smeared the horrible Hun<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In spite of the President.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"What a frightful flivver this Baker is!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Cried many a Senator;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet we handed the Kaiser his<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In spite of the Sec. of War.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">A sadly incompetent, sinful crew<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is that of the recent fight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet we put it across, we do,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In spite of a lot of spite.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Return_of_the_Soldier" id="The_Return_of_the_Soldier"></a>The Return of the Soldier</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lady, when I left you<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Ere I sailed the sea,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bitterly bereft you<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Told me you would be.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Frequently and often<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When I fought the foe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How my heart would soften,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Pitying your woe!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still, throughout my yearning,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It was my belief<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That my mere returning<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Would annul your grief.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Arguing <i>ex parte</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Maybe you can tell<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why I find your heart A.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">W. O. L.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="I_Remember_I_Remember" id="I_Remember_I_Remember"></a>"I Remember, I Remember"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I remember, I remember<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The house where I was born;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The rent was thirty-two a month,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Which made my father mourn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He said he could remember when<br /></span>
+<span class="i0"><i>His</i> father paid the rent;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And when a man's expenses did<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Not take his every cent.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I remember, I remember&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My mother telling my cousin<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That eggs had gone to twenty-six<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or seven cents a dozen;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And how she told my father that<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She didn't like to speak<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of things like that, but Bridget now<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Demanded four a week.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I remember, I remember&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And with a mirthless laugh&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My weekly board at college took<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A jump to three and a half.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I bought an eighteen-dollar suit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And father told me, "Sonny,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll pay the bill this time, but, Oh,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I am not made of money!"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I remember, I remember,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I was young and brave<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I declared, "Well, Birdie, we<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Shall now begin to save."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was a childish ignorance,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But now 'tis little joy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To know I'm farther off from wealth<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than when I was a boy.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Higher_Education" id="The_Higher_Education"></a>The Higher Education</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>(Harvard's prestige in football is a leading factor.
+The best players in the big preparatory schools prefer
+to study at Cambridge, where they can earn fame on
+the gridiron. They do not care to be identified with
+Yale and Princeton.&mdash;<span class="smcap">Joe Vila</span> in the <i>Evening Sun</i>.)</p></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Father," began the growing youth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"Your pleading finds me deaf;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Although I know you speak the truth<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">About the course at Shef.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But think you that I have no pride,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To follow such a trail?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot be identified<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With Princeton or with Yale."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Father," began another lad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Emerging from his prep;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I know you are a Princeton grad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But the coaches have no pep.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But though the Princeton profs provide<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fine courses to inhale;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot be identified<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With Princeton or with Yale."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"I know," he said, "that Learning helps<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A lot of growing chaps;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Yale has William Lyon Phelps,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And Princeton Edward Capps.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But while, within the Football Guide,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The Haughton hosts prevail,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I cannot be identified<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With Princeton or with Yale."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="War_and_Peace" id="War_and_Peace"></a>War and Peace</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"This war is a terrible thing," he said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"With its countless numbers of needless dead;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A futile warfare it seems to me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fought for no principle I can see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alas, that thousands of hearts should bleed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For naught but a tyrant's boundless greed!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Said the wholesale grocer, in righteous mood,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As he went to adulterate salable food.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Spake as follows the merchant king:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Isn't this war a disgraceful thing?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heartless, cruel, and useless, too;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It doesn't seem that it <i>can</i> be true.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Think of the misery, want, and fear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We ought to be grateful we've no war here.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Six a week"&mdash;to a girl&mdash;"That's flat!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I can get a thousand to work for that."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Fifty-Fifty" id="Fifty-Fifty"></a>Fifty-Fifty</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For something like eleven summers<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I've written things that aimed to teach<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Our careless mealy-mouth&eacute;d mummers<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To be more sedulous of speech.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So sloppy of articulation<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So limping and so careless they<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">About distinct enunciation,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Often I don't know what they say.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The other night an able actor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Declaiming of some lines I heard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hailed a public benefactor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As I distinguished every word.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But, oh! the subtle disappointment!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thorn on the celebrated rose<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And fly within the well-known ointment!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(Allusions everybody knows.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Came forth the words exact and snappy.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And as I sat there, that P.M.,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I mused, "Was I not just as happy<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When I could not distinguish them?"<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="So_Shines_a_Good_Deed_in_a" id="So_Shines_a_Good_Deed_in_a"></a>"So Shines a Good Deed in a
+Naughty World"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was a man in our town, and he was wondrous rich;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He gave away his millions to the colleges and sich;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And people cried: "The hypocrite! He ought to understand<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The ones who really need him are the children of this land."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When Andrew Cr&#339;sus built a home for children who were sick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The people said they rather thought he did it as a trick,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And writers said: "He thinks about the drooping girls and boys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But what about conditions with the men whom he employs?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was a man in our town who said that he would share<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His profits with his laborers, for that was only fair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And people said: "Oh, isn't he the shrewd and foxy gent?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It cost him next to nothing for that free advertisement."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">There was a man in our town who had the perfect plan<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To do away with poverty and other ills of man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But he feared the public jeering, and the folks who would defame him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So he never told the plan he had, and I can hardly blame him.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Vain_Words" id="Vain_Words"></a>Vain Words</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Humble, surely, mine ambition;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It is merely to construct<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Some occasion or condition<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When I may say "usufruct."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Earnest am I and assiduous;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Yet I'm certain that I shan't amount<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To a lot till I use "viduous,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"Indiscerptible," and "tantamount."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_the_Importance_of_Being" id="On_the_Importance_of_Being"></a>On the Importance of Being
+Earnest</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Gentle Jane was as good as gold,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To borrow a line from Mr. Gilbert;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She hated War with a hate untold,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She was a pacifistic filbert.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If you said "Perhaps"&mdash;she'd leave the hall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You couldn't argue with her at all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Teasing Tom was a very bad boy,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(Pardon my love for a good quotation).<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To talk of war was his only joy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And his single purpose was Preparation.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i4">*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And what both of these children had to say<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never knew, for I ran away.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="It_Happens_in_the_B_R_Families" id="It_Happens_in_the_B_R_Families"></a>It Happens in the B. R. Families</h2>
+
+<h4>WITH THE CUSTOMARY OBEISANCES</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">'Twas on the shores that round our coast<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">From Deal to Newport lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I roused from sleep in a huddled heap<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">An elderly wealthy guy.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His hair was graying, his hair was long,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And graying and long was he;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I heard this grouch on the shore avouch,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In a singular jazzless key:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh, I am a cook and a waitress trim<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the maid of the second floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep<i>er</i>.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the man who tends the door!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And he started to frisk and play,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Till I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So I said (in the Gilbert way):<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Oh, elderly man, I don't know much<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Of the ways of societee,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I'll eat my friend if I comprehend<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">However you can be<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"At once a cook and a waitress trim<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the maid of the second floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep<i>er</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the man who tends the door."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Then he smooths his hair with a nervous air,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And a gulp in his throat he swallows,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that elderly guy he then lets fly<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Substantially as follows:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"We had a house down Newport way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And we led a simple life;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There was only I," said the elderly guy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"And my daughter and my wife.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And of course the cook and the waitress trim<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the maid of the second floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep<i>er</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the man who tends the door.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"One day the cook she up and left,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She up and left us flat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She was getting a hundred and ten a mon-<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Th, but she couldn't work for that.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And the waitress trim was her bosom friend,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And she wouldn't stay no more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And our strong chauffeur eloped with her<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who was maid of the second floor.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And we couldn't get no other help,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">So I had to cook and wait.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was quite absurd," wept the elderly bird.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"I deserve a better fate.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And I drove the car and I made the beds<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Till the housekeeper up and quit;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the man at the door found that a bore,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Which is why I am, to wit:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"At once a cook and a waitress trim<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the maid of the second floor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep<i>er</i>,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the man who tends the door."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Abelard_and_Heloise" id="Abelard_and_Heloise"></a>Abelard and Helo&iuml;se</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>["There are so many things I want to talk to you
+about." Abelard probably said to Helo&iuml;se, "but how can
+I when I can only think about kissing you?"&mdash;<span class="smcap">Katharine
+Lane</span> in the <i>Evening Mail</i>.]</p></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Said Abelard to Helo&iuml;se:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Your tresses blowing in the breeze<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Enchant my soul; your cheek allures;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never knew such lips as yours."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Said Helo&iuml;se to Abelard:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I know that it is cruel, hard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To make you fold your yearning arms<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And think of things besides my charms."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Said Abelard to Helo&iuml;se:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Pray let's discuss the Portuguese;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Their status in the League of Nations.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">... Come, slip me seven osculations."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The Fourteen Points," said Helo&iuml;se,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Are pure Woodrovian fallacies."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said Abelard: "Ten times fourteen<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The points you have, O beaucoup queen!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Lay off," said Helo&iuml;se, "all that stuff.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I've heard the same old thing enough."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"But," answered Abelard, "your lips<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Put all my thoughts into eclipse."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"O Abelard," said Helo&iuml;se,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Don't take so many liberties."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"O Helo&iuml;se," said Abelard,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I do it but to show regard."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Helo&iuml;se told her chum that night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Abelard was Awful Bright;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And&mdash;thus is drawn the cosmic plan&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">She <i>loved</i> an Intellectual Man.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Lines_Written_on_the_Sunny_Side" id="Lines_Written_on_the_Sunny_Side"></a>Lines Written on the Sunny Side
+of Frankfort Street</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Sporting with Amaryllis in the shade,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(I credit Milton in parenthesis),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Among the speculations that she made<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Was this:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"When"&mdash;these her very words&mdash;"when you return,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A slave to duty's harsh commanding call,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Will you, I wonder, ever sigh and yearn<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">At all?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Doubt, honest doubt, sat then upon my brow.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(Emotion is a thing I do not plan.)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I could not fairly answer then, but now<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">I can.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yes, Amaryllis, I can tell you this,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Can answer publicly and unafraid:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You haven't any notion how I miss<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">The shade.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Fifty" id="Fifty"></a>Fifty-Fifty</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>[We think about the feminine faces we meet in the
+streets, and experience a passing melancholy because
+we are unacquainted with some of the girls we see.&mdash;From
+"The Erotic Motive in Literature," by <span class="smcap">Albert
+Mordell</span>.]</p></div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whene'er I take my walks abroad,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">How many girls I see<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Whose form and features I applaud<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With well-conceal&eacute;d glee!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I'd speak to many a sonsie maid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or willowy or obese,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were I not fearful, and afraid<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">She'd yell for the police.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And Melancholy, bittersweet,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Marks me then as her own,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Because I lack the nerve to greet<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The girls I might have known.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Yet though with sadness I am fraught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(As I remarked before),<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There is one sweetly solemn thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Comes to me o'er and o'er:<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For every shadow cloud of woe<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Hath argentine alloy;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I see some girls I do not know,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And feel a passing joy.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="To_Myrtilla" id="To_Myrtilla"></a>To Myrtilla</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Twelve fleeting years ago, my Myrt,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(<i>Eheu fugaces!</i> maybe more)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wrote of the directoire skirt<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">You wore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ten years ago, Myrtilla mine,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The hobble skirt engaged my pen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That was, I calculate, in Nine-<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Teen Ten.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The polo coat, the feathered lid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The phony furs of yesterfall,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The current shoe&mdash;I tried to kid<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Them all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Vain every vitriolic bit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Silly all my sulphuric song.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rube Goldberg said a bookful; it<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">'S all wrong.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Bitter the words I used to fling,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But you, despite my angriest Note,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were never swayed by anything<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I wrote.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So I surrender. I am beat.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And, though the admission rather girds,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In any garb you're just too sweet<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For words.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_Psalm_of_Labouring_Life" id="A_Psalm_of_Labouring_Life"></a>A Psalm of Labouring Life</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Tell me not, in doctored numbers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Life is but a name for work!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For the labour that encumbers<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Me I wish that I could shirk.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Life is phony! Life is rotten!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the wealthy have no soul;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why should you be picking cotton?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Why should I be mining coal?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Not employment and not sorrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Is my destined end or way;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But to act that each to-morrow<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Finds me idler than to-day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Work is long, and plutes are lunching;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Money is the thing I crave;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But my heart continues punching<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Funeral time-clocks to the grave.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In the world's uneven battle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In the swindle known as life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Be not like the stockyards cattle&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Stick your partner with a knife!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Trust no Boss, however pleasant!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Capital is but a curse!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Strike,&mdash;strike in the living present!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fill, oh fill, the bulging purse!<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lives of strikers all remind us<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">We can make our lives a crime,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And, departing, leave behind us<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bills for double overtime.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Charges that, perhaps another,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Working for a stingy ten<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bucks a day, some mining brother<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Seeing, shall walk out again.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let us, then, be up and striking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Discontent with all of it;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Still undoing, still disliking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Learn to labour&mdash;and to quit.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Ballade_of_Ancient_Acts" id="Ballade_of_Ancient_Acts"></a>Ballade of Ancient Acts</h2>
+
+<h4>AFTER HENLEY</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where are the wheezes they essayed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where the smiles they made to flow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where's Caron's seltzer siphon laid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A squirt from which laid Herbert low?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where's Charlie Case's comic woe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Georgie Cohan's nasal drawl?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The afterpiece? The olio?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the night go one and all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where are the japeries, fresh or frayed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Fields and Lewis used to throw?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Where is the horn that Shepherd played?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The slide trombone that Wood would blow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Amelia Glover's l. f. toe?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Rays and their domestic brawl?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bert Williams with "Oh, <i>I</i> Don't Know?"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the night go one and all.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Where's Lizzie Raymond, peppy jade?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The braggart Lew, the simple Joe?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And where the Irish servant maid<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That Jimmie Russell used to show?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Charles Sweet, who tore the paper snow?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ben Harney's where? And Artie Hall?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nash Walker, Darktown's grandest beau?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the night go one and all.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>L'ENVOI</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Prince, though our children laugh "Ho! Ho!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">At us who gleefully would fall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For acts that played the Long Ago,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Into the night go one and all.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="To_a_Prospective_Cook" id="To_a_Prospective_Cook"></a>To a Prospective Cook</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet weed the flowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But stand in the kitchen and cook a fine meal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And ride every night in an automobile.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Curly Locks, Curly Locks, come to us soon!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou needst not to rise until mid-afternoon;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou mayst be Croatian, Armenian, or Greek;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thy guerdon shall be what thou askest per week.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Curly Locks, Curly Locks, give us a chance!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thou shalt not wash windows, nor iron my pants.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, come to the cosiest of seven-room bowers,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Variation_on_a_Theme" id="Variation_on_a_Theme"></a>Variation on a Theme</h2>
+
+<h4>June 30, 1919.</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Notably fond of music, I dote on a clearer tone<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than ever was blared by a bugle or zoomed by a saxophone;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the sound that opens the gates for me of a Paradise revealed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is something akin to the note revered by the bless&eacute;d Eugene Field,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who sang in pellucid phrasing that I perfectly well recall<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of the clink of the ice in the pitcher that the boy brings up the hall.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But sweeter to me than the sparrow's song or the goose's autumn honks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is the sound of the ice in the shaker as the barkeeper mixes a Bronx.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Between the dark and the daylight, when I'm worried about The Tower,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Comes a pause in the day's tribulations that is known as the cocktail hour;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my soul is sad and jaded, and my heart is a thing forlorn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I view the things I have written with a sickening, scathing scorn.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, it's then I fare with some other slave who is hired for the things he writes<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">To a Den of Sin where they mingle gin&mdash;such as Lipton's, Mouquin's, or Whyte's,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my spirit thrills to a music sweeter than Sullivan or Puccini&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The swash of the ice in the shaker as he mixes a Dry Martini.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The drys will assert that metallic sound is the selfsame canon made<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">By the ice in the shaker that holds a drink like orange or lemonade;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But on the word of a travelled man and a bard who has been around,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sound of tin on ice and gin is a snappier, happier sound.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And I mean to hymn, as soon as I have a moment of leisure time,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The chill susurrus of cocktail ice in an adequate piece of rhyme.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But I've just had an invitation to hark, at a beckoning bar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To the sound of the ice in the shaker as the barkeeper mixes a Star.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Such_Stuff_as_Dreams" id="Such_Stuff_as_Dreams"></a>"Such Stuff as Dreams"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Jenny kiss'd me in a dream;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">So did Elsie, Lucy, Cora,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bessie, Gwendolyn, Eupheme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Alice, Adelaide, and Dora.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Say of honour I'm devoid,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Say monogamy has miss'd me,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But don't say to Dr. Freud<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Jenny kiss'd me.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Ballad_of_Justifiable_Homicide" id="The_Ballad_of_Justifiable_Homicide"></a>The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They brought to me his mangled corpse<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And I feared lest I should swing.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"O tell me, tell me,&mdash;and make it brief&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Why hast thou done this thing?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Had this man robbed the starving poor<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or lived a gunman's life,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had he set fire to cottages,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or run off with thy wife?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"He hath not robbed the starving poor,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nor lived a gunman's life;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He hath set fire to no cottage,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nor run off with my wife.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"Ye ask me such a question that<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">It now my lips unlocks:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I learned he was the man who planned<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The second balcony box."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The jury pondered never an hour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">They thought not even a little,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But handed in unanimously<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A verdict of acquittal.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Ballad_of_the_Murdered" id="The_Ballad_of_the_Murdered"></a>The Ballad of the Murdered
+Merchant</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All stark and cold the merchant lay,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">All cold and stark lay he.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And who hath killed this fair mer<i>chant</i>?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Now tell the truth to me.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, I have killed this fair mer<i>chant</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Will never again draw breath;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, I have made this fair mer<i>chant</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To come unto his death.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, why hast thou killed this fair mer<i>chant</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whose corse I now behold?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And why hast caused this man to lie<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In death all stark and cold?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, I have killed this fair mer<i>chant</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Whose kith and kin make moan,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For that he hath stolen my precious time<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When he useth the telephone.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The telephone bell rang full and clear;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The receiver did I seize.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Hello!" quoth I, and quoth a girl,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"Hello!... One moment, please."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I waited moments ane and twa,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And moments three and four,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then I sought that fair mer<i>chant</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And spilled his selfish gore.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That business man who scorneth to waste<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His moments sae rich and fine<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In calling a man to the telephone<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shall never again waste mine!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And every time a henchwom<i>an</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Shall cause me a moment's loss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll forthwith fare to that of<i>fice</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And stab to death her boss.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Rise up! Rise up! thou bless&eacute;d knight!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And off thy bended knees!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Go forth and slay all folk who make<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Us wait "One moment, please."<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="A_Gotham_Garden_of_Verses" id="A_Gotham_Garden_of_Verses"></a>A Gotham Garden of Verses</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">I<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In summer when the days are hot<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The subway is delayed a lot;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In winter, quite the selfsame thing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In autumn also, and in spring.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And does it not seem strange to you<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That transportation is askew<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this&mdash;I pray, restrain your mirth!&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In this, the Greatest Town on Earth?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">II<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">All night long and every night<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The neighbours dance for my delight;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I hear the people dance and sing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like practically anything.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Women and men and girls and boys,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All making curious kinds of noise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And dancing in so weird a way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I never saw the like by day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">So loud a show was never heard<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As that which yesternight occurred:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">They danced and sang, as I have said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As I lay wakeful on my bed.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">They shout and cry and yell and laugh<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And play upon the phonograph;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And endlessly I count the sheep,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Endeavouring to fall asleep.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">III<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It is very nice to think<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This town is full of meat and drink;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That is, I'd think it very nice<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">If my papa but had the price.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">IV<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">This town is so full of a number of folks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'm sure there will always be matter for jokes.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Lines_on_Reading_Frank_J_Wilstachs_A_Dictionary_of_Similes" id="Lines_on_Reading_Frank_J_Wilstachs_A_Dictionary_of_Similes"></a>Lines on Reading Frank J. Wilstach's "A Dictionary of Similes"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">As neat as wax, as good as new,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As true as steel, as truth is true,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Good as a sermon, keen as hate,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Full as a tick, and fixed as fate&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Brief as a dream, long as the day,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sweet as the rosy morn in May,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Chaste as the moon, as snow is white,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Broad as barn doors, and new as sight&mdash;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Useful as daylight, firm as stone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Wet as a fish, dry as a bone,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Heavy as lead, light as a breeze&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Frank Wilstach's book of similes.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Dictaphone_Bard" id="The_Dictaphone_Bard"></a>The Dictaphone Bard</h2>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>[And here is a suggestion: Did you ever try dictating
+your stories or articles to the dictaphone for the
+first draft? I would be glad to have you come down
+and make the experiment.&mdash;From a shorthand reporter's
+circular letter.]</p>
+
+<p>(As "The Ballad of the Tempest" would have
+to issue from the dictaphone to the stenographer)</p>
+
+<p><i>Begin each line with a capital. Indent alternate
+lines. Double space after each fourth line.</i></p>
+</div>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">We were crowded in the cabin comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Not a soul would dare to sleep dash comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was midnight on the waters comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And a storm was on the deep period<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">Apostrophe Tis a fearful thing in capital Winter<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To be shattered by the blast comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And to hear the rattling trumpet<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Thunder colon quote capital Cut away the mast exclamation point close quote<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">So we shuddered there in silence comma dash<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For the stoutest held his breath comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">While the hungry sea was roaring comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And the breakers talked with capital Death period<br /></span></i></div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>
+<div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">As thus we sat in darkness comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Each one busy with his prayers comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quote We are lost exclamation point close quote the captain shouted comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As he staggered down the stairs period<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">But his little daughter whispered comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As she took his icy hand colon<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Quote Isn't capital God upon the ocean comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Just the same as on the land interrogation point close quote<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">Then we kissed the little maiden comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And we spake in better cheer comma<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And we anchored safe in harbor<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When the morn was shining clear period<br /></span></i></div>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Comfort_of_Obscurity" id="The_Comfort_of_Obscurity"></a>The Comfort of Obscurity</h2>
+
+<h4>INSPIRED BY READING MR. KIPLING'S POEMS AS
+PRINTED IN THE NEW YORK PAPERS</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Though earnest and industrious,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I still am unillustrious;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">No papers empty purses<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Printing verses<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Such as mine.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No lack of fame is chronicker<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Than that about my monicker;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">My verse is never cabled<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">At a fabled<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Rate per line.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Still though the Halls<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Literature are closed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To me a bard obscure I<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Have a consolation The<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Copyreaders crude and rough<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Can't monkey with my<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Humble stuff and change MY<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Punctuation.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Ballade_of_the_Traffickers" id="Ballade_of_the_Traffickers"></a>Ballade of the Traffickers</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Up goes the price of our bread&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Up goes the cost of our caking!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">People must ever be fed;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Bakers must ever be baking.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So, though our nerves may be quaking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Dumbly, in arrant despair,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Pay we the crowd that is taking<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that the traffic will bear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Costly to sleep in a bed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Costlier yet to be waking!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Costly for one who is wed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Ruinous for one who is raking!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Tradespeople, ducking and draking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Charge you as much as they dare,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Asking, without any faking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that the traffic will bear.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Roof that goes over our head,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Thirst so expensive for slaking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Paper, apparel, and lead&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Why are their prices at breaking?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, though our purses be aching,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Little the traffickers care;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Getting, for chopping and steaking,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that the traffic will bear.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4>L'ENVOI</h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Take thou my verses, I pray, King,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Letting my guerdon be fair.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Even a bard must be making<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">All that the traffic will bear.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="To_W_Hohenzollern_on_Discontinuing" id="To_W_Hohenzollern_on_Discontinuing"></a>To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing
+The Conning Tower</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">William, it was, I think, three years ago&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As I recall, one cool October morning&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(You have <i>The Tribune</i> files; I think they'll show<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I gave you warning).<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I said, in well-selected words and terse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In phrases balanced, yet replete with power,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That I should cease to pen the prose and verse<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Known as The Tower.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That I should stop this Labyrinth of Light&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Though stopping make the planet leaden-hearted&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Unless you stopped the well-known <i>Schrecklichkeit</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Your nation started.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I printed it in type that you could read;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My paragraphs were thewed, my rhymes were sinewed.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You paid, I judge from what ensued, no heed ...<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The war continued.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And though my lines with fortitude were fraught,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Although my words were strong, and stripped of stuffing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You, William, thought&mdash;oh, yes, you did&mdash;you thought<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">That I was bluffing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You thought that I would fail to see it through!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">You thought that, at the crux of things, I'd cower!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How little, how imperfectly you knew<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">The Conning Tower!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">You'll miss the column at the break of day.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I have no fear that I shall be forgotten.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You'll miss the daily privilege to say:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"That stuff is rotten!"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Or else&mdash;as sometimes has occurred&mdash;when I<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Have chanced upon a lucky line to blunder,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You'll miss the precious privilege to cry:<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">"That bird's a wonder!"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well, William, when your people cease to strafe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">When you have put an end to all this war stuff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When all the world is reasonably safe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I'll write some more stuff.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when you miss the quip and wanton wile,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And learn you can't endure the Towerless season,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O William, I shall not be petty ... I'll<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Listen to reason.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1"><i>October 5, 1917.</i><br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="To_W_Hohenzollern_on_Resuming" id="To_W_Hohenzollern_on_Resuming"></a>To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming
+The Conning Tower</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Well, William, since I wrote you long ago&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As I recall, one cool October morning&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(I have <i>The Tribune</i> files. They clearly show<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I gave you warning.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Since when I penned that consequential ode,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The world has seen a vast amount of slaughter,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And under many a Gallic bridge has flowed<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">A lot of water.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I said that when your people ceased to strafe,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That when you'd put an end to all this war stuff,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And all the world was reasonably safe<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I'd write some more stuff;<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">That when you missed the quip and wanton wile<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And learned you couldn't bear a Towerless season,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I quote: "O, I shall not be petty.... I'll<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Listen to reason."<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0"><i>Labuntur anni</i>, not to say <i>Eheu</i><br /></span>
+<span class="i1"><i>Fugaces</i>! William, by my shoulders glistening!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have the final laugh, for it was you<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">Who did the listening.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i1"><i>January 15, 1919.</i><br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Thoughts_on_the_Cosmos" id="Thoughts_on_the_Cosmos"></a>Thoughts on the Cosmos</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">I<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I do not hold with him who thinks<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The world is jonahed by a jinx;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That everything is sad and sour,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And life a withered hothouse flower.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">II<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I hate the Pollyanna pest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who says that All Is for the Best,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And hold in high, unhidden scorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who sees the Rose, nor feels the Thorn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i6">III<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I do not like extremists who<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Are like the pair in (I) and (II);<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But how I hate the wabbly gink,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Like me, who knows not what to think!<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="On_Environment" id="On_Environment"></a>On Environment</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I used to think that this environ-<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Ment talk was all a lot of guff;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Place mattered not with Keats and Byron<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Stuff.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I have thoughts that need disclosing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bright be the day or hung with gloom,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll write in Heaven or the composing-<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Room.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Times are when with my nerves a-tingle,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Joyous and bright the songs I sing;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though, gay, I can't dope out a single<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Thing.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And yet, by way of illustration,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The gods my graying head anoint ...<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I wrote <i>this</i> piece at Inspiration<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Point.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="The_Ballad_of_the_Thoughtless" id="The_Ballad_of_the_Thoughtless"></a>The Ballad of the Thoughtless
+Waiter</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I saw him lying cold and dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Who yesterday was whole.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Why," I inquired, "hath he expired?<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And why hath fled his soul?"<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But yesterday," his comrade said,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">"All health was his, and strength;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And this is why he came to die&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">If I may speak at length.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"But yesternight at dinnertime<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">At a not unknown caf&eacute;,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He had a frugal meal as you<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Might purchase any day.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The check for his so simple fare<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Was only eighty cents,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And a dollar bill with a right good will<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Came from his opulence.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"The waiter brought him twenty cents.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">'Twas only yesternight<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That he softly said who now is dead<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">'Oh, keep it. 'At's a' right.'<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">"And the waiter plainly uttered 'Thanks,'<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">With no hint of scorn or pride;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And my comrade's heart gave a sudden start<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And my comrade up and died."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now waiters overthwart this land,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In tearooms and in dives,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mute be your lips whatever the tips,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And save your customers' lives.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Rus_Vs_Urbs" id="Rus_Vs_Urbs"></a>Rus Vs. Urbs</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Whene'er the penner of this pome<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Regards a lovely country home,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">He sighs, in words not insincere,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I think I'd like to live out here."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">And when the builder of this ditty<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Returns to this pulsating city,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The perpetrator of this pome<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yearns for a lovely country home.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Im_Out_of_the_Army_Now" id="Im_Out_of_the_Army_Now"></a>"I'm Out of the Army Now"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">When first I doffed my olive drab,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I thought, delightedly though mutely,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"Henceforth I shall have pleasure ab-<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Solutely."<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Dull with the drudgery of war,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sick of the very name of fighting,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I yearned, I thought, for something more<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Exciting.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">The rainbow be my guide, quoth I;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My suit shall be a brave and proud one<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Gay-hued my socks; and oh, my tie<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">A loud one!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">For me the theatre and the dance;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Primrose the path I would be wending;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For me the roses of romance<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Unending.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Those were my inner thoughts that day<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(And those of many another million)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When once again I should be a<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">Civilian.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I would not miss the old o. d.;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Monotony I didn't much like)<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I would not miss the reveille,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And such like.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I don't ... And do I now enjoy<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">My walks along the primrose way so?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Is civil life the life? Oh, boy,<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">I'll say so.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="Oh_Man" id="Oh_Man"></a>"Oh Man!"</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Man hath harnessed the lightning;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Man hath soared to the skies;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Mountain and hill are clay to his will;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Skilful he is, and wise.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Sea to sea hath he wedded,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Canceled the chasm of space,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Given defeat to cold and heat;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Splendour is his, and grace.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">His are the topless turrets;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">His are the plumbless pits;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Earth is slave to his architrave,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Heaven is thrall to his wits.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And so in the golden future,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He who hath dulled the storm<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(As said above) may make a glove<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">That'll keep my fingers warm.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="An_Ode_in_Time_of_Inauguration" id="An_Ode_in_Time_of_Inauguration"></a>An Ode in Time of Inauguration</h2>
+
+<h4>(March 4, 1913)</h4>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Thine aid, O Muse, I consciously beseech;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I crave thy succour, ask for thine assistance<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That men may cry: "Some little ode! A peach!"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">O Muse, grant me the strength to go the distance!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For odes, I learn, are dithyrambs, and long;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Exalted feeling, dignity of theme<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And complicated structure guide the song.<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">(All this from Webster's book of high esteem.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Let complicated structure not becloud<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">My lucid lines, nor weight with overloading.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth and that crowd<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I yield the bays for ground and lofty oding.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Mine but the task to trace a country's growth,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">As evidenced by each inauguration<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">From Washington's to Wilson's primal oath&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">In these U. S., the celebrated nation.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">But stay! or ever that I start to sing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Or e'er I loose my fine poetic forces,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I ought, I think, to do the decent thing,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">To wit: give credit to my many sources:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Barnes's "Brief History of the U. S. A.,"<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bryce, Ridpath, Scudder, Fiske, J. B. McMaster,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A book of odes, a Webster, a Roget&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The bibliography of this poetaster.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Flow, flow, my pen, as gently as sweet Afton ever flowed!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">An thou dost ill, shall this be still a poor thing, but mine ode.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">G. W., initial prex,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Right down in Wall Street, New York City,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Took his first oath. Oh, multiplex<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The whimsies quaint, the comments witty<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">One might evolve from that! I scorn<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To mock the spot where he was sworn.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">On next Inauguration Day<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">He took the avouchment sempiternal<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Way down in Phil-a-delph-i-a,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Where rises now the L. H. Journal.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His Farewell Speech in '96<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Said: "'Ware the Trusts and all their tricks!"<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">John Adams fell on darksome days:<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">March Fourth was blustery and sleety;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The French behaved in horrid ways<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Until John Jay drew up a treaty.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came the Eleventh Amendment, too,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Providing that&mdash;but why tell <i>you</i>?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">T. Jefferson, one history showed,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Held all display was vain and idle;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Alone, unpanoplied, he rode;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Alone he hitched his horse's bridle.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">No ball that night, and no carouse,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But back to Conrad's boarding house.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">He tied that bridle to the fence<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The morning of inauguration;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">John Davis saw him do it; whence<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Arose his "simple" reputation.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The White House, though, with Thomas J.,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Had chefs&mdash;and parties every day.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">The Muse Interrupts the Odist</span></h4>
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">If I were you I think I'd change my medium;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I weary of your meter and your style.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The sameness of it sickens me to tedium;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I'll quit unless you switch it for a while.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+<h4><span class="smcap">The Odist Replies</span></h4>
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I bow to thee, my Muse, most eloquent of pleaders;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But why embarrass me in front of all these readers?<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Madison's inauguration<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Was a lovely celebration.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">In a suit of wool domestic<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Rode he, stately and majestic,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Making it be manifest<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Clothes American are best.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">This has thundered through the ages.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(See our advertising pages.)<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lightly I pass along, and so<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Come to the terms of James Monroe<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Who framed the doctrine far too well<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Known for an odist to retell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">His period of friendly dealing<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Began The Era of Good Feeling.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">John Quincy Adams followed him in Eighteen Twenty-four;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Election was exciting&mdash;the details I shall ignore.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But his inauguration as our country's President<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Was, take it from McMaster, some considerable event.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">It was a brilliant function, and I think I ought to add<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The Philadelphia "Ledger" said a gorgeous time was had.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Old Andrew Jackson's pair of terms were terribly exciting;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That stern, intrepid warrior had little else than fighting.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A time of strife and turbulence, of politics and flurry.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But deadly dull for poem themes, so, Mawruss, I should worry!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">In Washington did Martin Van<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">A stately custom then decree:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Old Hickory, the veteran,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Must ride with him, the people's man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">For all the world to see.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A pleasant custom, in a way,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">And yet I should have laughed<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To see the Sage of Oyster Bay<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">On Tuesday ride with Taft.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">(Pardon me this<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Parenthetical halt:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That sight you'll miss,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But it isn't my fault.)<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">William Henry Harrison came<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Riding a horse of alabaster,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the weather that day was a sin and a shame,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Take it from me and John McMaster.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Only a month&mdash;and Harrison died,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And V.-P. Tyler began preside.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">A far from popular prex was he,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And the next one was Polk of Tennessee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There were two inaugural balls for him,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">But the rest of his record is rather dim.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Had I the pen of a Pope or a Thackeray,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Had I the wisdom of Hegel or Kant,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Then might I sing as I'd like to of Zachary,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Then might I sing a Taylorian chant.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, for the lyrical art of a Tennyson!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Oh, for the skill of Macaulay or Burke!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">None of these mine; so I give him my benison,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Turning reluctantly back to my work.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">O Millard Fillmore! when a man refers<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">To thee, what direful, awful thing occurs?<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though in itself thy name hath nought of wit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet&mdash;and this doth confound me to admit<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">When I do hear it, I do smile; nay, more&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I laugh, I scream, I cachinnate, I roar<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As Wearied Business Men do shake with glee<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">At mimes that say "Dubuque" or "Kankakee";<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As basement-brows that laugh at New Rochelle;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As lackwits laugh when actors mention Hell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps&mdash;it may be so&mdash;I am not sure&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Perhaps it is that thou wast so obscure,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And that one seldom hears a single word of thee;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I know a lot of girls that never heard of thee.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hence did I smile, perhaps.... How very near<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The careless laughing to the thoughtful tear!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">O Fillmore, let me sheathe my mocking pen.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">God rest thee! I'll not laugh at thee again!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">I have heard it remarked that to Pierce's election<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">There wasn't a soul had the slightest objection.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I have also been told, by some caustical wit,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">That no one said nay when he wanted to quit.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Yet Franklin Pierce, forgotten man,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">I celebrate your fame.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">I'm doing just the best I can<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">To keep alive your name,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Though as a President, F. P.,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">You didn't do as much for me.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Of James Buchanan things a score<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I might recite. I'll say that he was<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The only White House bachelor&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">The only one, that's what J. B. was.<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">For he was a bachelor&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">For he might have been a bigamist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">A Mormon, a polygamist,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And had thirty wives or more;<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">But this be his memorial:<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">He was ever unuxorial,<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">And remained a bachelor&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i4">He re-mai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ained a bachelor.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Lincoln! I falter, feeling it to be<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">As if all words of mine in praise of him<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Were as the veriest dolt that saw the sun;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And God had spoken him and said to him:<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">"I bid you tell me what you think of it."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And he should answer: "Oh, the sun is nice."<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">So sadly fitted I to speak in praise<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Of Lincoln.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Now during Andrew Johnson's term the currency grew stable;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">We bought Alaska and we laid the great Atlantic cable;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And then there came eight years of Grant; thereafter four of Hayes;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And in his time the parties fell on fierce and parlous days;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Garfield came, and Arthur too, and Congress shoes were worn,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And Brooklyn Bridge was built, and I, your gifted bard, was born.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Cleveland and Harrison came along then;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Followed an era of Cleveland again.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Came then McKinley and&mdash;light me a pipe&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Hey, there, composing room, get some new type!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">I sing him now as I shall sing him again;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">I sing him now as I have sung before.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">How fluently his name comes off my pen!<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">O Theodore!<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">Bless you and keep you, T. R.!<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Energy tireless, eternal,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Fixed and particular star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel.<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">Energy tireless, eternal;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Hater of grafters and crooks!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Writer and lover of books,<br /></span></i></div><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>
+<div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">Hater of grafters and crooks,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Forceful, adroit, and expressive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Writer and lover of books,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Nevertheless a Progressive.<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">Forceful, adroit, and expressive,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Often asserting the trite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Nevertheless a Progressive;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Errant, but generally right.<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">Often asserting the trite;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Stubborn, and no one can force you.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Errant, but generally right&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Yet, on the whole, I indorse you.<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza"><i>
+<span class="i0">Stubborn, and no one can force you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Fixed and particular star,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Yet, on the whole, I indorse you,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">Bless you and keep you, T. R.!<br /></span></i>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">It blew, it rained, it snowed, it stormed, it froze, it hailed, it sleeted<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The day that William Howard Taft upon the chair was seated.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The four long years that followed&mdash;ah, that I should make a rime of it!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">For Mr. Taft assures me that he had an awful time of it.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">And yet meseems he did his best; and as we bid good-bye,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">I'll add he did a better job than you'd have done&mdash;or I.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i2">Welcome to thee! I shake thy hand,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">New prexy of our well-known land.<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May what we merit, and no less,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Descend to give us happiness!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">May what we merit, and no more,<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Descend on us in measured store!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Give us but peace when we shall earn<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">The right to such a rich return!<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">Give us but plenty when we show<br /></span>
+<span class="i2">That we deserve to have it so!<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Mine ode is finished! Tut! It is a slight one,<br /></span>
+<span class="i1">But blame me not; I do as I am bid.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The editor of <span class="smcap">Collier's</span> said to write one&mdash;<br /></span>
+<span class="i6">And I did.<br /></span>
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></div></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2><a name="What_the_Copy_Desk_Might" id="What_the_Copy_Desk_Might"></a>What the Copy Desk Might
+Have Done to:</h2>
+
+<p class="center">("Annabel Lee")</p>
+
+<h2><b>SOUL BRIDE ODDLY DEAD<br />
+IN QUEER DEATH PACT</b></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><big><b>High-Born Kinsman Abducts<br />
+Girl from Poet-Lover&mdash;Flu<br />
+Said to Be Cause of Death&mdash;Grand<br />
+Jury to Probe</b></big></p>
+
+
+<p>Annabel L. Poe, of 1834-1/2 3rd
+Av., the beautiful young fiancee
+of Edmund Allyn Poe, a magazine
+writer from the South, was found
+dead early this morning on the beach
+off E. 8th St.</p>
+
+<p>Poe seemed prostrated and, questioned
+by the police, said that one of her aristocratic
+relatives had taken her to the
+"seashore," but that the cold winds had
+given her "flu," from which she never
+"rallied."</p>
+
+<p>Detectives at work on the case believe,
+they say, that there was a suicide compact
+between the Poes and that Poe
+also intended to do away with himself.</p>
+
+<p>He refused to leave the spot where the
+woman's body had been found.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center">("Curfew Must Not Ring To-night")</p>
+
+<h2><b>GIRL, HUMAN BELL-CLAPPER,<br />
+SAVES DOOMED LOVER'S LIFE</b></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><big><b>BRAVE ACT Of "BESSIE" SMITH<br />
+HALTS CURFEW FROM RINGING<br />
+AND MELTS CROMWELL'S HEART</b></big></p>
+
+<p class="center">(By Cable to <i>The Courier</i>)</p>
+
+
+<p>HUDDERSFIELD, KENT, ENGLAND.&mdash;Jan.
+15.&mdash;Swinging far out
+above the city, "Bessie" Smith, the
+young and beautiful fianc&eacute;e of Basil
+Underwood, a prisoner incarcerated in
+the town jail, saved his life to-night.</p>
+
+<p>The woman went to "Jack" Hemingway,
+sexton of the First M. E. Church,
+and asked him to refrain from ringing
+the curfew bell last night, as Underwood's
+execution had been set for the
+hour when the bell was to ring. Hemingway
+refused, alleging it to be his
+duty to ring the bell.</p>
+
+<p>With a quick step Miss Smith bounded
+forward, sprang within the old church
+door, left the old man threading slowly
+paths which previously he had trodden,
+and mounted up to the tower. Climbing
+the dusty ladder in the dark, she is said
+to have whispered:</p>
+
+<p>"Curfew is not to ring this evening."</p>
+
+<p>Seizing the heavy tongue of the bell,
+as it was about to move, she swung far
+out suspended in mid-air, oscillating,
+thus preventing the bell from ringing.
+Hemingway's deafness prevented him
+from hearing the bell ring, but as he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>
+had been deaf for 20 years, he attributed
+no importance to the silence.</p>
+
+<p>As Miss Smith descended, she met
+Oliver Cromwell, the well-known lord
+protector, who had condemned Underwood
+to death. Hearing her story and
+noting her hands, bruised and torn, he
+said in part: "Go, your lover lives.
+Curfew shall not ring this evening."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center">("The Ballad of the Tempest")</p>
+
+<h2><b>TOT'S FEW WORDS<br />
+KEEP 117 SOULS<br />
+FROM DIRE PANIC</b></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><big><b>Babe's Query to Parent Saves<br />
+Storm-Flayed Ship's Passengers<br />
+Crowded in Cabin</b></big></p>
+
+<h4>FEARFUL THING IN WINTER</h4>
+
+
+<p>BOSTON, MASS, Jan. 17&mdash;Cheered
+by the faith of little
+"Jennie" Carpenter, the 7-year-old
+daughter of Capt. B. L. Carpenter,
+of a steamer whose name could not be
+learned, 117 passengers on board were
+brought through panic early this morning
+while the storm was at its height,
+to shore.</p>
+
+<p>George H. Nebich, one of the passengers,
+told the following story to a
+COURIER reporter:</p>
+
+<p>"About midnight we were crowded in
+the cabin, afraid to sleep on account of
+the storm. All were praying, as Capt.
+Carpenter, staggering down the stairs,
+cried: 'We are lost!' It was then that
+little 'Jennie,' his daughter, took him
+by his hand and asked him whether he
+did not believe in divine omnipresence.
+All the passengers kissed the little<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>
+'girlie' whose faith had so inspirited
+us."</p>
+
+<p>The steamer, it was said at the office
+of the company owning her, would leave
+as usual to-night for Portland.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center">("Plain Language from Truthful James")</p>
+
+<h2><b>AH SIN, FAMED TONG MAN,<br />
+BESTS BARD AT CARD TILT</b></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><big><b>"Celestial" Gambler, Feigning Ignorance<br />
+of Euchre, Tricks Francis Bret Harte and<br />
+"Bill" Nye into Heavy Losses&mdash;Solons<br />
+to Probe Ochre Peril</b></big></p>
+
+
+<p>SAN FRANCISCO, Aug. 3.&mdash;Francis
+B. Harte and E. W. Nye, a pair of local
+magazine writers, lost what is believed
+to be a large sum of money in a game
+of euchre played near the Bar-M mine
+this afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>There had been, Harte alleged, a
+three-handed game of euchre participated
+in by Nye, a Chinaman named Ah
+Sin and himself. The Chinaman, Harte
+asserted, did not understand the game,
+but, Harte declared, smiled as he sat by
+the table with what Harte termed was
+a "smile that was childlike and bland."</p>
+
+<p>Harte said that his feelings were
+shocked by the chicanery of Nye, but
+that the hands held by Ah Sin were
+unusual. Nye, maddened by the Chinaman's
+trickery, rushed at him, 24 packs
+of cards spilling from the tong-man's
+long sleeves. On his taper nails was
+found some wax.</p>
+
+<p>The "Mongolian," Harte said, is peculiar.</p>
+
+<p>Harte and Nye are thought to have
+lost a vast sum of money, as they are
+wealthy authors.</p>
+
+<p>The legislature, it is said, will investigate
+the question of the menace to
+American card-players by the so-called
+Yellow peril.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center">("Excelsior")</p>
+
+<h2><b>DOG FINDS LAD<br />
+DEAD IN DRIFT</b></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><big><b>Unidentified Body of Young Traveler<br />
+Found by Faithful Hound Near<br />
+Small Alpine Village&mdash;White<br />
+Mantle His Snowy Shroud</b></big></p>
+
+
+<p>ST. BERNARD, Sept. 12.&mdash;Early
+this morning a dog belonging to the St.
+Bernard Monastery discovered the body
+of a young man, half buried in the
+snow.</p>
+
+<p>In his hand was clutched a flag with
+the word "Excelsior" printed on it.</p>
+
+<p>It is thought that he passed through
+the village last night, bearing the banner,
+and that a young woman had offered
+him shelter, which he refused,
+having answered "Excelsior."</p>
+
+<p>The police are working on the case.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center">("The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers")</p>
+
+<h2><b>PILGRIM DADS<br />
+LAND ON MASS.<br />
+COAST TOWN</b></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><big><b>Intrepid Band of Britons, Seeking<br />
+Faith's Pure Shrine, Reach<br />
+Rock-Bound Coast, Singing<br />
+Amid Storm</b></big></p>
+
+
+<p>PROVINCETOWN, MASS,
+Dec. 21&mdash;Poking her nose
+through the fog, the ship <i>Mayflower</i>,
+of Southampton, Jones, Master, limped
+into port to-night.</p>
+
+<p>On board were men with hoary hair
+and women with fearless eyes, 109 in
+all.</p>
+
+<p>Asked why they had made the journey,
+they alleged that religious freedom
+was the goal they sought here.</p>
+
+<p>The <i>Mayflower</i> carried a cargo of antique
+furniture.</p>
+
+<p>Among those on board were William
+Bradford, M. Standish, Jno. Alden,
+Peregrine White, John Carver and
+others.</p>
+
+<p>Steps are being taken to organize a
+society of Mayflower Descendants.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p>
+<p class="center">("The Bridge Of Sighs")</p>
+
+<h2><b>KINLESS YOUNG<br />
+WOMAN, WEARY,<br />
+TAKES OWN LIFE</b></h2>
+
+<p class="center"><big><b>Body of Girl Found in River<br />
+Tells Pitiful Story of<br />
+Homelessness and Lack of<br />
+Charity</b></big></p>
+
+
+<p>LONDON, March 16.&mdash;The body of a
+young woman, her garments clinging
+like cerements, was found in the river
+late this afternoon.</p>
+
+<p>In the entire city she had no home.
+There are, according to the police, no
+relatives.</p>
+
+<p>The woman was young and slender
+and had auburn hair.</p>
+
+<p>No cause has been assigned for the
+act.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p>
+<h2><a name="Song_of_Synthetic_Virility" id="Song_of_Synthetic_Virility"></a>Song of Synthetic Virility</h2>
+
+
+<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, some may sing of the surging sea, or chant of the raging main;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or tell of the taffrail blown away by the raging hurricane.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With an oh, for the feel of the salt sea spray as it stipples the guffy's cheek!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oh, for the sob of the creaking mast and the halyard's aching squeak!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some may sing of the galley-foist, and some of the quadrireme,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some of the day the xebec came and hit us abaft the beam.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, some may sing of the girl in Kew that died for a sailor's love,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some may sing of the surging sea, as I may have observed above.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Oh, some may long for the Open Road, or crave for the prairie breeze,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some, o'ersick of the city's strain, may yearn for the whispering trees.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">With an oh, for the rain to cool my face, and the wind to blow my hair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And oh, for the trail to Joyous Garde, where I may find my fair!<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some may love to lie in the field in the stark and silent night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">The glistering dew for a coverlet and the moon and stars for light.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>
+<span class="i0">Let others sing of the soughing pines and the winds that rustle and roar,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And others long for the Open Road, as I may have remarked before.<br /></span>
+</div><div class="stanza">
+<span class="i0">Ay, some may sing of the bursting bomb and the screech of a screaming shell,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Or tell the tale of the cruel trench on the other side of hell.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some may talk of the ten-mile hike in the dead of a winter night,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And others chaunt of the doughtie Kyng with mickle valour dight.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And some may long for the song of a child and the lullaby's fairy charm,<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And others yearn for the crack of the bat and the wind of the pitcher's arm.<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">Oh, some have longed for this and that, and others have craved and yearned;<br /></span>
+<span class="i0">And they all may sing of whatever they like, as far as I'm concerned.<br /></span>
+</div></div>
+
+<hr style='width: 45%;' />
+
+<h6>THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK</h6>
+
+
+
+<hr style='width: 65%;' />
+
+<h3>Transcriber's Notes</h3>
+
+<p class="center">Original variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have
+been retained.</p>
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+<pre>
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Something Else Again, by Franklin P. Adams
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+</body>
+</html>
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@@ -0,0 +1,4046 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Something Else Again, by Franklin P. Adams
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: Something Else Again
+
+Author: Franklin P. Adams
+
+Release Date: October 7, 2008 [EBook #26797]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOMETHING ELSE AGAIN ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Diane Monico, and the Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+SOMETHING
+ELSE AGAIN
+
+_By_
+
+FRANKLIN P. ADAMS
+
+_Author of_
+"_By and Large_," "_In Other Words_,"
+"_Tobogganing on Parnassus_,"
+"_Weights and Measures_,"
+_Etc._
+
+[Illustration]
+
+DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+GARDEN CITY   NEW YORK   LONDON
+1920
+
+
+
+
+COPYRIGHT, 1920.
+
+DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
+ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF
+TRANSLATION INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES,
+INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN
+
+
+
+
+To MONTAGUE GLASS
+
+
+
+
+ACKNOWLEDGMENT
+
+
+The author wishes to thank the _New York Tribune_,
+_Life_, _Harper's Magazine_, _Collier's Weekly_, and _The Home
+Sector_, for their kind permission to include in this
+volume material which has appeared in their pages.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                                                  PAGE
+
+Present Imperative                                                   3
+
+The Doughboy's Horace                                                5
+
+From: Horace To: Phyllis                                             7
+
+Advising Chloe                                                       8
+
+To an Aged Cut-up I                                                  9
+
+                  II                                                10
+
+His Monument                                                        11
+
+Glycera Rediviva!                                                   12
+
+On a Wine of Horace's                                               13
+
+"What Flavour?"                                                     14
+
+The Stalling of Q. H. F.                                            15
+
+On the Flight of Time                                               16
+
+The Last Laugh                                                      17
+
+Again Endorsing the Lady I                                          19
+
+                         II                                         20
+
+Propertius's Bid for Immortality                                    21
+
+A Lament                                                            23
+
+Bon Voyage--and Vice Versa                                          24
+
+Fragment                                                            25
+
+On the Uses of Adversity                                            26
+
+After Hearing "Robin Hood"                                          27
+
+Maud Muller Mutatur                                                 28
+
+The Carlyles                                                        31
+
+If Amy Lowell Had Been James Whitcomb Riley                         35
+
+If the Advertising Man Had Been Gilbert                             37
+
+If the Advertising Man Had Been Praed, or Locker                    39
+
+Georgie Porgie                                                      40
+
+On First Looking into Bee Palmer's Shoulders                        41
+
+To a Vers Librist                                                   43
+
+How Do You Tackle Your Work?                                        45
+
+Recuerdo                                                            48
+
+On Tradition                                                        51
+
+Unshackled Thoughts on Chivalry, Romance, Adventure, Etc.           52
+
+Results Ridiculous                                                  53
+
+Regarding (1) the U. S. and (2) New York                            54
+
+Broadmindedness                                                     55
+
+The Jazzy Bard                                                      56
+
+Lines on and from "Bartlett's Familiar Quotations"                  57
+
+Thoughts in a Far Country                                           58
+
+When You Meet a Man from Your Own Home Town                         59
+
+The Shepherd's Resolution                                           61
+
+"It Was a Famous Victory"                                           62
+
+On Profiteering                                                     63
+
+Despite                                                             64
+
+The Return of the Soldier                                           65
+
+"I Remember, I Remember"                                            66
+
+The Higher Education                                                68
+
+War and Peace                                                       69
+
+Fifty-Fifty                                                         70
+
+"So Shines a Good Deed in a Naughty World"                          71
+
+Vain Words                                                          72
+
+On the Importance of Being Earnest                                  73
+
+It Happens in the B. R. Families                                    74
+
+Abelard and Heloise                                                 77
+
+Lines Written on the Sunny Side of Frankfort Street                 79
+
+Fifty-Fifty                                                         80
+
+To Myrtilla                                                         81
+
+A Psalm of Labouring Life                                           82
+
+Ballade of Ancient Acts                                             84
+
+To a Prospective Cook                                               85
+
+Variation on a Theme                                                86
+
+"Such Stuff as Dreams"                                              88
+
+The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide                                  89
+
+The Ballad of the Murdered Merchant                                 90
+
+A Gotham Garden of Verses                                           92
+
+Lines on Reading Frank J. Wilstach's "A Dictionary of Similes"      94
+
+The Dictaphone Bard                                                 95
+
+The Comfort of Obscurity                                            97
+
+Ballade of the Traffickers                                          98
+
+To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing The Conning Tower             100
+
+To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming The Conning Tower                  103
+
+Thoughts on the Cosmos                                             105
+
+On Environment                                                     106
+
+The Ballad of the Thoughtless Waiter                               107
+
+Rus Vs. Urbs                                                       109
+
+"I'm Out of the Army Now"                                          110
+
+"Oh Man!"                                                          112
+
+An Ode in Time of Inauguration                                     113
+
+What the Copy Desk Might Have Done                                 124
+
+Song of Synthetic Virility                                         133
+
+
+
+
+SOMETHING ELSE AGAIN
+
+
+
+
+Present Imperative
+
+Horace: Book I, Ode 11
+
+_"Tu ne quaesieris--scire nefas--quem mihi; quem tibi----"_
+
+AD LEUCONOEN
+
+
+Nay, query not, Leuconoe, the finish of the fable;
+Eliminate the worry as to what the years may hoard!
+You only waste your time upon the Babylonian Table--
+(Slang for the Ouija board).
+
+And as to whether Jupiter, the final, unsurpassed one,
+May add a lot of winters to our portion here below,
+Or this impinging season is to be our very last one--
+Really, I'd hate to know.
+
+Apply yourself to wisdom! Sweep the floor and wash the dishes,
+Nor dream about the things you'll do in 1928!
+My counsel is to cease to sit and yearn about your wishes,
+Cursing the throws of Fate.
+
+My! how I have been chattering on matters sad and pleasant!
+(Endure with me a moment while I polish off a rhyme).
+If I were you, I think, I'd bother only with the present--
+Now is the only time.
+
+
+
+
+The Doughboy's Horace
+
+Horace: Book III, Ode 9
+
+"Donec eram gratus tibi----"
+
+HORACE, PVT. ----TH INFANTRY, A. E. F., WRITES:
+
+
+While I was fussing you at home
+You put the notion in my dome
+That I was the Molasses Kid.
+I batted strong. I'll say I did.
+
+
+LYDIA, ANYBURG, U. S. A., WRITES:
+
+While you were fussing me alone
+To other boys my heart was stone.
+When I was all that you could see
+No girl had anything on me.
+
+
+HORACE:
+
+Well, say, I'm having some romance
+With one Babette, of Northern France.
+If that girl gave me the command
+I'd dance a jig in No Man's Land.
+
+
+LYDIA:
+
+I, too, have got a young affair
+With Charley--say, that boy is _there_!
+I'd just as soon go out and die
+If I thought it'd please that guy.
+
+
+HORACE:
+
+Suppose I can this foreign wren
+And start things up with you again?
+Suppose I promise to be good?
+I'd love you, Lyd. I'll say I would.
+
+
+LYDIA:
+
+Though Charley's good and handsome--_oh_, boy!
+And you're a stormy, fickle doughboy,
+Go give the Hun his final whack,
+And I'll marry you when you come back.
+
+
+
+
+From: Horace
+To: Phyllis
+Subject: Invitation
+
+Book IV, Ode 11
+
+"_Est mihi nonum superantis annum----_"
+
+
+Phyllis, I've a jar of wine,
+(Alban, B. C. 49),
+Parsley wreaths, and, for your tresses,
+Ivy that your beauty blesses.
+
+Shines my house with silverware;
+Frondage decks the altar stair--
+Sacred vervain, a device
+For a lambkin's sacrifice.
+
+Up and down the household stairs
+What a festival prepares!
+Everybody's superintending--
+See the sooty smoke ascending!
+
+What, you ask me, is the date
+Of the day we celebrate?
+13th April, month of Venus--
+Birthday of my boss, Maecenas.
+
+Let me, Phyllis, say a word
+Touching Telephus, a bird
+Ranking far too high above you;
+(And the loafer doesn't love you).
+
+Lessons, Phyllie, may be learned
+From Phaeton--how he was burned!
+And recall Bellerophon was
+One equestrian who thrown was.
+
+Phyllis, of my loves the last,
+My philandering days are past.
+Sing you, in your clear contralto,
+Songs I write for the rialto.
+
+
+
+
+Advising Chloe
+
+Horace: Book I, Ode 23
+
+_"Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chloe----"_
+
+
+Why shun me, my Chloe? Nor pistol nor bowie
+  Is mine with intention to kill.
+And yet like a llama you run to your mamma;
+  You tremble as though you were ill.
+
+No lion to rend you, no tiger to end you,
+  I'm tame as a bird in a cage.
+That counsel maternal can run for _The Journal_--
+  You get me, I guess.... You're of age.
+
+
+
+
+To An Aged Cut-up
+
+Horace: Book III, Ode 15
+
+
+I
+
+"_Uxor pauperis Ibyci,
+    Tandem nequitiae fige modum tuae----_"
+
+IN CHLORIN
+
+Dear Mrs. Ibycus, accept a little sound advice,
+  Your manners and your speech are over-bold;
+To chase around the sporty way you do is far from nice;
+  Believe me, darling, you are growing old.
+
+Now Pholoe may fool around (she dances like a doe!)
+  A debutante has got to think of men;
+But you were twenty-seven over thirty years ago--
+  You ought to be asleep at half-past ten.
+
+O Chloris, cut the ragging and the roses and the rum--
+  Delete the drink, or better, chop the booze!
+Go buy a skein of yarn and make the knitting needles hum,
+  And imitate the art of Sister Suse.
+
+
+II
+
+Chloris, lay off the flapper stuff;
+What's fit for Pholoe, a fluff,
+Is not for Ibycus's wife--
+A woman at your time of life!
+
+Ignore, old dame, such pleasures as
+The shimmy and "the Bacchus Jazz";
+Your presence with the maidens jars--
+You are the cloud that dims the stars.
+
+Your daughter Pholoe may stay
+Out nights upon the Appian Way;
+Her love for Nothus, as you know,
+Makes her as playful as a doe.
+
+No jazz for you, no jars of wine,
+No rose that blooms incarnadine.
+For one thing only are you fit:
+Buy some Lucerian wool--and knit!
+
+
+
+
+His Monument
+
+Horace: Book III, Ode 30
+
+"_Exegi monumentum aere perennius----_"
+
+
+The monument that I have built is durable as brass,
+And loftier than the Pyramids which mock the years that pass.
+Nor blizzard can destroy it, nor furious rain corrode--
+Remember, I'm the bard that built the first Horatian ode.
+
+I shall not altogether die; a part of me's immortal.
+A part of me shall never pass the mortuary portal;
+And when I die my fame shall stand the nitric test of time--
+The fame of me of lowly birth, who built the lofty rhyme!
+
+Ay, fame shall be my portion when no trace there is of me,
+For I first made AEolian songs the songs of Italy.
+Accept I pray, Melpomene, my modest meed of praise,
+And crown my thinning, graying locks with wreaths of Delphic bays!
+
+
+
+
+Glycera Rediviva!
+
+Horace: Book I, Ode 19
+
+"_Mater saeva Cupidinum_"
+
+
+Venus, the cruel mother of
+The Cupids (symbolising Love),
+Bids me to muse upon and sigh
+For things to which I've said "Good-bye!"
+
+Believe me or believe me not,
+I give this Glycera girl a lot:
+Pure Parian marble are her arms--
+And she has eighty other charms.
+
+Venus has left her Cyprus home
+And will not let me pull a pome
+About the Parthians, fierce and rough,
+The Scythian war, and all that stuff.
+
+Set up, O slaves, a verdant shrine!
+Uncork a quart of last year's wine!
+Place incense here, and here verbenas,
+And watch me while I jolly Venus!
+
+
+
+
+On a Wine of Horace's
+
+
+What time I read your mighty line,
+  O Mr. Q. Horatius Flaccus,
+In praise of many an ancient wine--
+  You twanged a wicked lyre to Bacchus!--
+I wondered, like a Yankee hick,
+If that old stuff contained a kick.
+
+So when upon a Paris card
+  I glimpsed Falernian, I said: "Waiter,
+I'll emulate that ancient bard,
+  And pass upon his merits later."
+Professor Mendell, _quelque_ sport,
+Suggested that we split a quart.
+
+O Flaccus, ere I ceased to drink
+  Three glasses and a pair of highballs,
+I could not talk; I could not think;
+  For I was pickled to the eyeballs.
+If you sopped up Falernian wine
+How did you ever write a line?
+
+
+
+
+"What Flavour?"
+
+Horace: Book III, Ode 13
+
+_"O fons Bandusiae, splendidior vitro----"_
+
+
+Worthy of flowers and syrups sweet,
+  O fountain of Bandusian onyx,
+To-morrow shall a goatling's bleat
+  Mix with the sizz of thy carbonics.
+
+A kid whose budding horns portend
+  A life of love and war--but vainly!
+For thee his sanguine life shall end--
+  He'll spill his blood, to put it plainly.
+
+And never shalt thou feel the heat
+  That blazes in the days of Sirius,
+But men shall quaff thy soda sweet,
+  And girls imbibe thy drinks delirious.
+
+Fountain whose dulcet cool I sing,
+  Be thou immortal by this Ode (a
+Not wholly meretricious thing),
+  Bandusian fount of ice-cream soda!
+
+
+
+
+The Stalling of Q. H. F.
+
+Horace: Epode 14
+
+_"Mollis inertia cur tantam diffuderit imis"_
+
+
+Maecenas, you fret me, you worry me
+  Demanding I turn out a rhyme;
+Insisting on reasons, you hurry me;
+  You want my iambics on time.
+You say my ambition's diminishing;
+  You ask why my poem's not done.
+The god it is keeps me from finishing
+        The stuff I've begun.
+
+Be not so persistent, so clamorous.
+  Anacreon burned with a flame
+Candescently, crescently amorous.
+  You rascal, you're doing the same!
+Was no fairer the flame that burned Ilium.
+  Cheer up, you're a fortunate scamp,
+... Consider avuncular William
+        And Phryne, the vamp.
+
+
+
+
+On the Flight of Time
+
+Horace: Book I, Ode 2
+
+"_Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi,
+quem tibi_"
+
+AD LEUCONOEN
+
+
+Look not, Leuconoe, into the future;
+  Seek not to find what the Answer may be;
+Let no Chaldean clairvoyant compute your
+  Time of existence.... It irritates me!
+
+Better to bear what may happen soever
+  Patiently, playing it through like a sport,
+Whether the end of your breathing is Never,
+  Or, as is likely, your time will be short.
+
+This is the angle, the true situation;
+  Get me, I pray, for I'm putting you hep:
+While I've been fooling with versification
+  Time has been flying.... Both gates!
+    Watch your step!
+
+
+
+
+The Last Laugh
+
+Horace: Epode 15
+
+_"Nox erat et caelo fulgebat Luna sereno----"_
+
+
+"How sweet the moonlight sleeps," I quoted,
+  "Upon this bank!" that starry night--
+The night you vowed you'd be devoted--
+  I'll tell the world you held me tight.
+
+The night you said until Orion
+  Should cease to whip the wintry sea,
+Until the lamb should love the lion,
+  You would, you swore, be all for me.
+
+Some day, Neaera, you'll be sorry.
+  No mollycoddle swain am I.
+I shall not sit and pine, by gorry!
+  Because you're with some other guy!
+
+No, I shall turn my predilection
+  Upon some truer, fairer Jane;
+And all your prayer and genuflexion
+  For my return shall be in vain.
+
+And as for _you_, who choose to sneer, O,
+  Though deals in lands and stocks you swing,
+Though handsome as a movie hero,
+  Though wise you are--and everything;
+
+Yet, when the loss of her you're mourning,
+  How I shall laugh at all your woe!
+How I'll remind you of this warning,
+  And laugh, "Ha! ha! I told you so!"
+
+
+
+
+Again Endorsing the Lady
+
+Book II, Elegy 2
+
+_"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere
+lecto----"_
+
+
+I
+
+I was free. I thought that I had entered Love's Antarctic Zone.
+"A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights shall be my own."
+But Love has double-crossed me. How can Beauty be so fair?
+The grace of her, the face of her--and oh, her yellow hair!
+
+And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth a goddess glide.
+Jove's sister--ay, or Pallas--hath no statelier a stride.
+Fair as Ischomache herself, the Lapithanian maid;
+Or Brimo when at Mercury's side her virgin form she laid.
+
+Surrender now, ye goddesses whom erst the shepherd spied!
+Upon the heights of Ida lay your vestitures aside!
+And though she reach the countless years of the Cumaean Sibyl,
+May never, never Age at those delightful features nibble!
+
+
+II
+
+I thought that I was wholly free,
+  That I had Love upon the shelf;
+"Hereafter," I declared in glee,
+  "I'll have my evenings to myself."
+How can such mortal beauty live?
+(Ah, Jove, thine errings I forgive!)
+
+Her tresses pale the sunlight's gold;
+  Her hands are featly formed, and taper;
+Her--well, the rest ought not be told
+  In any modest family paper.
+Fair as Ischomache, and bright
+As Brimo. _Quaeque_ queen is right.
+
+O goddesses of long ago,
+  A shepherd called ye sweet and slender.
+He saw ye, so he ought to know;
+  But sooth, to her ye must surrender.
+O may a million years not trace
+A single line upon that face!
+
+
+
+
+Propertius's Bid for Immortality
+
+Book III, Ode 3
+
+_"Carminis interea nostri redaemus in
+orbem----"_
+
+
+Let us return, then, for a time,
+To our accustomed round of rhyme;
+And let my songs' familiar art
+Not fail to move my lady's heart.
+
+They say that Orpheus with his lute
+Had power to tame the wildest brute;
+That "Variations on a Theme"
+Of his would stay the swiftest stream.
+
+They say that by the minstrel's song
+Cithaeron's rocks were moved along
+To Thebes, where, as you may recall,
+They formed themselves to frame a wall.
+
+And Galatea, lovely maid,
+Beneath wild Etna's fastness stayed
+Her horses, dripping with the mere,
+Those Polypheman songs to hear.
+
+What marvel, then, since Bacchus and
+Apollo grasp me by the hand,
+That all the maidens you have heard
+Should hang upon my slightest word?
+
+Taenerian columns in my home
+Are not; nor any golden dome;
+No parks have I, nor Marcian spring,
+Nor orchards--nay, nor anything.
+
+The Muses, though, are friends of mine;
+Some readers love my lyric line;
+And never is Calliope
+Awearied by my poetry.
+
+O happy she whose meed of praise
+Hath fallen upon my sheaf of lays!
+And every song of mine is sent
+To be thy beauty's monument.
+
+The Pyramids that point the sky,
+The House of Jove that soars so high,
+Mausolus' tomb--they are not free
+From Death his final penalty.
+
+For fire or rain shall steal away
+The crumbling glory of their day;
+But fame for wit can never die,
+And gosh! I was a gay old guy!
+
+
+
+
+A Lament
+
+Propertius: Book II, Elegy 8
+
+_"Eripitur nobis iam pridem cara puella----"_
+
+
+While she I loved is being torn
+  From arms that held her many years,
+Dost thou regard me, friend, with scorn,
+  Or seek to check my tears?
+
+Bitter the hatred for a jilt,
+  And hot the hates of Eros are;
+My hatred, slay me an thou wilt,
+  For thee'd be gentler far.
+
+Can I endure that she recline
+  Upon another's arm? Shall they
+No longer call that lady "mine"
+  Who "mine" was yesterday?
+
+For Love is fleeting as the hours.
+  The town of Thebes is draped with moss,
+And Ilium's well-known topless towers
+  Are now a total loss.
+
+Fell Thebes and Troy; and in the grave
+  Have fallen lords of high degree.
+What songs I sang! What gifts I gave!
+  ... _She_ never fell for me.
+
+
+
+
+Bon Voyage--and Vice Versa
+
+Propertius: Elegy VIII, Part 1
+
+_"Tune igitur demens, nec te mea cura
+moratur?"_
+
+
+O Cynthia, hast thou lost thy mind?
+  Have I no claim on thine affection?
+Dost love the chill Illyrian wind
+  With something passing predilection?
+And is thy friend--whoe'er he be--
+The kind to take the place of _me_?
+
+Ah, canst thou bear the surging deep?
+  Canst thou endure the hard ship's-mattress?
+For scant will be thy hours of sleep
+  From Staten Island to Cape Hatt'ras;
+And won't thy fairy feet be froze
+With treading on the foreign snows?
+
+I hope that doubly blows the gale,
+  With billows twice as high as ever,
+So that the captain, fain to sail,
+  May not achieve his mad endeavour!
+The winds, when that they cease to roar,
+Shall find me wailing on the shore.
+
+Yet merit thou my love or wrath,
+  O False, I pray that Galatea
+May smile upon thy watery path!
+  A pleasant trip,--that's the idea.
+Light of my life, there never shall
+For me be any other gal.
+
+And sailors, as they hasten past,
+  Will always have to hear my query:
+"Where have you seen my Cynthia last?
+  Has anybody seen my dearie?"
+I'll shout: "In Malden or Marquette
+Where'er she be, I'll have her yet!"
+
+
+
+
+Fragment
+
+_"Militis in galea nidum fecere columbae."_--PETRONIUS
+
+
+Within the soldier's helmet see
+  The nesting dove;
+Venus and Mars, it seems to me,
+  In love.
+
+
+
+
+On the Uses of Adversity
+
+_"Nam nihil est, quod non mortalibus afferat
+usum."_--PETRONIUS
+
+
+Nothing there is that mortal man may utterly despise;
+What in our wealth we treasured, in our poverty we prize.
+
+The gold upon a sinking ship has often wrecked the boat,
+While on a simple oar a shipwrecked man may keep afloat.
+
+The burglar seeks the plutocrat, attracted by his dress--
+The poor man finds his poverty the true preparedness.
+
+
+
+
+After Hearing "Robin Hood"
+
+
+The songs of Sherwood Forest
+  Are lilac-sweet and clear;
+The virile rhymes of merrier times
+  Sound fair upon mine ear.
+
+Sweet is their sylvan cadence
+  And sweet their simple art.
+The balladry of the greenwood tree
+  Stirs memories in my heart.
+
+O braver days and elder
+  With mickle valour dight,
+How ye bring back the time, alack!
+  When Harry Smith could write!
+
+
+
+
+Maud Muller Mutatur
+
+    In 1909 toilet goods were not considered a serious matter and
+    no special department of the catalogs was devoted to it. A
+    few perfumes and creams were scattered here and there among
+    bargain goods.
+
+    In 1919 an assortment of perfumes that would rival any city
+    department store is shown, along with six pages of other
+    toilet articles, including rouge and eyebrow pencils.
+
+    _--From "How the Farmer Has Changed in a Decade: Toilet
+    Goods," in Farm and Fireside's advertisement._
+
+
+Maud Muller, on a summer's day,
+Powdered her nose with _Bon Sachet_.
+
+Beneath her lingerie hat appeared
+Eyebrows and cheeks that were well veneered.
+
+Singing she rocked on the front piazz,
+To the tune of "The Land of the Sky Blue Jazz."
+
+But the song expired on the summer air,
+And she said "This won't get me anywhere."
+
+The judge in his car looked up at her
+And signalled "Stop!" to his brave chauffeur.
+
+He smiled a smile that is known as broad,
+And he said to Miss Muller, "Hello, how's Maud?"
+
+"What sultry weather this is? Gee whiz!"
+Said Maud. Said the judge, "I'll say it is."
+
+"Your coat is heavy. Why don't you shed it?
+Have a drink?" said Maud. Said the judge, "You said it."
+
+And Maud, with the joy of bucolic youth,
+Blended some gin and some French vermouth.
+
+Maud Muller sighed, as she poured the gin,
+"I've got something on Whittier's heroine."
+
+"Thanks," said the judge, "a peppier brew
+From a fairer hand was never knew."
+
+And when the judge had had number 7,
+Maud seemed an angel direct from Heaven.
+
+And the judge declared, "You're a lovely girl,
+An' I'm for you, Maudie, I'll tell the worl'."
+
+And the judge said, "Marry me, Maudie dearie?"
+And Maud said yes to the well known query.
+
+And she often thinks, in her rustic way,
+As she powders her nose with _Bon Sachet_,
+
+"I never'n the world would 'a got that guy,
+If I'd waited till after the First o' July."
+
+And of all glad words of prose or rhyme,
+The gladdest are, "Act while there yet is time."
+
+
+
+
+The Carlyles
+
+    [I was talking with a newspaper man the other day who seemed
+    to think that the fact that Mrs. Carlyle threw a teacup at
+    Mr. Carlyle should be given to the public merely as a fact.
+
+    But a fact presented to people without the proper--or even,
+    if necessary, without the improper--human being to go with it
+    does not mean anything and does not really become alive or
+    caper about in people's minds.
+
+    But what I want and what I believe most people want when a
+    fact is being presented is one or two touches that will make
+    natural and human questions rise in and play about like this:
+
+    "Did a servant see Mrs. Carlyle throw the teacup? Was the
+    servant an English servant with an English imagination or an
+    Irish servant with an Irish imagination? What would the fact
+    have been like if Mr. Browning had been listening at the
+    keyhole? Or Oscar Wilde, or Punch, or the Missionary Herald,
+    or The New York Sun, or the Christian Science Monitor?"
+    --GERALD STANLEY LEE in the Satevepost.]
+
+
+BY OUR OWN ROBERT BROWNING
+
+As a poet heart- and fancy-free--whole,
+I listened at the Carlyles' keyhole;
+And I saw, I, Robert Browning, saw,
+Tom hurl a teacup at Jane's jaw.
+She silent sat, nor tried to speak up
+When came the wallop with the teacup--
+A cup not filled with Beaune or Clicquot,
+But one that brimmed with Orange Pekoe.
+"Jane Welsh Carlyle," said Thomas, bold,
+"The tea you brewed for m' breakfast's cold!
+I'm feeling low i' my mind; a thing
+You know b' this time. Have at you!"... Bing!
+And hurled, threw he at her the teacup;
+And I wrote it, deeming it unique, up.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+BY OUR OWN OSCAR WILDE
+
+LADY LEFFINGWELL (_coldly_).--A full teacup!
+What a waste! So many good women
+and so little good tea.
+
+          [_Exit Lady Leffingwell_]
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FROM OUR OWN "PUNCH"
+
+A MANCHESTER autograph collector, we are
+informed, has just offered L50 for the signature
+of Tea Carlyle.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FROM OUR OWN "MISSIONARY HERALD"
+
+From what clouds cannot sunshine be distilled!
+When, in a fit of godless rage, Mr.
+Carlyle threw a teacup at the good woman he
+had vowed at the altar to love, honour, and
+obey, she smiled and the thought of China
+entered her head.
+
+Yesterday Mrs. Carlyle enrolled as a missionary,
+and will sail for the benighted land
+of the heathen to-morrow.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FROM OUR OWN "NEW YORK SUN"
+
+Fortunate is MRS. JANE WELSH CARLYLE
+to have escaped with her life, though if she
+had not, no American worthy of the traditions
+of Washington could simulate acute
+sorrow. MR. CARLYLE, wearied of the dilatory
+methods of the BAKERIAN War Department,
+properly took the law into his own
+strong hands.
+
+The argument that resulted in the teacup's
+leaving MR. CARLYLE'S hands was common in
+most households. It transpires that MRS.
+CARLYLE, with a Bolshevistic tendency that
+makes patriots wonder what the Department
+of Justice--to borrow a phrase from a newspaper
+cartoonist--thinks about, had been
+championing the British-Wilson League of
+Nations, that league which will make ironically
+true our "E Pluribus Unum"--one of
+many. Repeated efforts by MR. CARLYLE, in
+appeals to the Department of Justice, the
+Military Intelligence Division, and the City
+Government, were of no avail. And so MR.
+CARLYLE, like the red-blooded American he
+is, did what the authorities should have saved
+him the embarrassing trouble of doing.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+FROM OUR OWN "CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR"
+
+It is reported that Mr. Thomas Carlyle has
+thrown a teacup at Mrs. Carlyle, and much
+exaggerated and acrid comment has been
+made on this incident.
+
+If it had been a whiskey glass, or a cocktail
+glass, the results might have been fatal.
+In Oregon, which went dry in 1916, the number
+of women hit by crockery has decreased
+4.2 per cent in three years. Of 1,844 women
+in Oregon hit by crockery in 1915, 1,802 were
+hit by glasses containing, or destined to contain,
+alcoholic stimulants. More than 94 per
+cent of these accidents resulted fatally. The
+remaining 22 women, hit by tea or coffee
+cups, are now happy, useful members of
+society.
+
+
+
+
+If Amy Lowell Had Been James
+Whitcomb Riley
+
+
+A DECADE
+
+When you came you were like red wine and honey,
+And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
+Now you are like morning bread--
+Smooth and pleasant,
+I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savour,
+But I am completely nourished.
+        --AMY LOWELL, in _The Chimaera_.
+
+When I wuz courtin' Annie, she wuz honey an' red wine,
+She made me feel all jumpy, did that ol' sweetheart o' mine;
+Wunst w'en I went to Crawfordsville, on one o' them there trips,
+I kissed her--an' the burnin' taste wuz sizzlin' on my lips.
+An' now I've married Annie, an' I see her all the time,
+I do not feel the daily need o' bustin' into rhyme.
+An' now the wine-y taste is gone, fer Annie's always there,
+An' I take her fer granted now, the same ez sun an' air.
+But though the honey taste wuz sweet, an' though the wine wuz strong,
+Yet ef I lost the sun an' air, I couldn't git along.
+
+
+
+
+If the Advertising Man Had
+Been Gilbert
+
+
+Never mind that slippery wet street--
+The tire with a thousand claws will hold you.
+Stop as quickly as you will--
+Those thousand claws grip the road like a vise.
+Turn as sharply as you will--
+Those thousand claws take a steel-prong grip on the road to prevent a
+  side skid.
+You're safe--safer than anything else will make you--
+Safe as you would be on a perfectly dry street.
+And those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too.
+
+--_From the Lancaster Tire and Rubber Company's
+advertisement in the Satevepost._
+
+
+Never mind it if you find it wet upon the street and slippery;
+  Never bother if the street is full of ooze;
+Do not fret that you'll upset, that you will spoil your summer frippery,
+  You may turn about as sharply as you choose.
+For those myriad claws will grip the road and keep the car from skidding,
+  And your steering gear will hold it fast and true;
+Every atom of the car will be responsive to your bidding,
+  AND those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too--
+        Oh, indubitably,
+  Those thousand claws are mileage insurance, too.
+
+
+
+
+If the Advertising Man Had
+Been Praed, or Locker
+
+
+"C'est distingue," says Madame La Mode,
+  'Tis a fabric of subtle distinction.
+For street wear it is superb.
+  The chic of the Rue de la Paix--
+The style of Fifth Avenue--
+  The character of Regent Street--
+All are expressed in this new fabric creation.
+  Leather-like but feather-light--
+It drapes and folds and distends to perfection.
+  And it may be had in dull or glazed,
+Plain or grained, basket weave or moired surfaces!
+
+--Advertisement of Pontine, in _Vanity Fair_.
+
+
+"C'est distingue," says Madame La Mode.
+  Subtly distinctive as a fabric fair;
+Nor Keats nor Shelley in his loftiest ode
+  Could thrum the line to tell how it will wear.
+
+The flair, the chic that is Rue de la Paix,
+  The style that is Fifth Avenue, New York.
+The character of Regent Street in May--
+  As leather strong, yet light as any cork.
+
+All these for her in this fair fabric clad.
+  (Light of my life, O thou my Genevieve!)
+In surface dull or glazed it may be had--
+  In plain or grained, moired or basket weave.
+
+
+
+
+Georgie Porgie
+
+BY MOTHER GOOSE AND OUR OWN SARA TEASDALE
+
+
+Bennie's kisses left me cold,
+  Eddie's made me yearn to die,
+Jimmie's made me laugh aloud,--
+  But Georgie's made me cry.
+
+Bennie sees me every night,
+  Eddie sees me every day,
+Jimmie sees me all the time,--
+  But Georgie stays away.
+
+
+
+
+On First Looking into Bee
+Palmer's Shoulders
+
+WITH BOWS TO KEATS AND KEITH'S
+
+["The World's Most Famous Shoulders"]
+
+_"Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
+  When a new planet swims into his ken,
+Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
+  He stared at the Pacific--and all his men
+Looked at each other with a wild surmise--
+  Silent upon a peak in Darien."_
+
+    "Bee" Palmer has taken the raw, human--all too human--stuff
+    of the underworld, with its sighs of sadness and regret, its
+    mad merriment, its swift blaze of passion, its turbulent
+    dances, its outlaw music, its songs of the social bandit, and
+    made a new art product of the theatre. She is to the sources
+    of jazz and the blues what Francois Villon was to the wild
+    life of Paris. Both have found exquisite blossoms of art in
+    the sector of life most removed from the concert room and the
+    boudoir, and their harvest has the vigour, the resolute life,
+    the stimulating quality, the indelible impress of daredevil,
+    care-free, do-as-you-please lives of the picturesque men and
+    women who defy convention.--From Keith's Press Agent.
+
+
+Much have I travell'd in the realms of jazz,
+And many goodly arms and shoulders seen
+Quiver and quake--if you know what I mean;
+I've seen a lot, as everybody has.
+Some plaudits got, while others got the razz.
+But when I saw Bee Palmer, shimmy queen,
+I shook--in sympathy--my troubled bean,
+And said, "This is the utter razmataz."
+
+Then felt I like some patient with a pain
+When a new surgeon swims into his ken,
+Or like stout Brodie, when, with reeling brain,
+He jumped into the river. There and then
+I subwayed up and took the morning train
+To Norwalk, Naugatuck, and Darien.
+
+
+
+
+To a Vers Librist
+
+
+"Oh bard," I said, "your verse is free;
+The shackles that encumber me,
+The fetters that are my obsession,
+Are never gyves to your expression.
+
+"The fear of falsities in rhyme,
+In metre, quantity, or time,
+Is never yours; you sing along
+Your unpremeditated song."
+
+"Correct," the young vers librist said.
+"Whatever pops into my head
+I write, and have but one small fetter:
+I start each line with a capital letter.
+
+"But rhyme and metre--Ishkebibble!--
+Are actually neglig_ib_le.
+I go ahead, like all my school,
+Without a single silly rule."
+
+Of rhyme I am so reverential
+He made me feel inconsequential.
+I shed some strongly saline tears
+For bards I loved in younger years.
+
+"If Keats had fallen for your fluff,"
+I said, "he might have done good stuff.
+If Burns had thrown his rhymes away,
+His songs might still be sung to-day."
+
+O bards of rhyme and metre free,
+My gratitude goes out to ye
+For all your deathless lines--ahem!
+Let's see, now.... What _is_ one of them?
+
+
+
+
+How Do You Tackle Your Work?
+
+
+How do you tackle your work each day?
+  Are you scared of the job you find?
+Do you grapple the task that comes your way
+  With a confident, easy mind?
+Do you stand right up to the work ahead
+  Or fearfully pause to view it?
+Do you start to toil with a sense of dread?
+  Or feel that you're going to do it?
+
+You can do as much as you think you can,
+  But you'll never accomplish more;
+If you're afraid of yourself, young man,
+  There's little for you in store.
+For failure comes from the inside first,
+  It's there if we only knew it,
+And you can win, though you face the worst,
+  If you feel that you're going to do it.
+
+Success! It's found in the soul of you,
+  And not in the realm of luck!
+The world will furnish the work to do,
+  But you must provide the pluck.
+You can do whatever you think you can,
+  It's all in the way you view it.
+It's all in the start that you make, young man:
+  You must feel that you're going to do it.
+
+How do you tackle your work each day?
+  With confidence clear, or dread?
+What to yourself do you stop and say
+  When a new task lies ahead?
+What is the thought that is in your mind?
+  Is fear ever running through it?
+If so, just tackle the next you find
+  By thinking you're going to do it.
+
+--From "A Heap o' Livin'," by Edgar A. Guest
+
+
+I tackle my terrible job each day
+  With a fear that is well defined;
+And I grapple the task that comes my way
+  With no confidence in my mind.
+I try to evade the work ahead,
+  As I fearfully pause to view it,
+And I start to toil with a sense of dread,
+  And doubt that I'm going to do it.
+
+I can't do as much as I think I can,
+  And I never accomplish more.
+I am scared to death of myself, old man,
+  As I may have observed before.
+I've read the proverbs of Charley Schwab,
+  Carnegie, and Marvin Hughitt;
+But whenever I tackle a difficult job,
+  O gosh! how I hate to do it!
+
+I try to believe in my vaunted power
+  With that confident kind of bluff,
+But somebody tells me The Conning Tower
+  Is nothing but awful stuff.
+And I take up my impotent pen that night,
+  And idly and sadly chew it,
+As I try to write something merry and bright,
+  And I know that I shall not do it.
+
+And that's how I tackle my work each day--
+  With terror and fear and dread--
+And all I can see is a long array
+  Of empty columns ahead.
+And those are the thoughts that are in my mind,
+  And that's about all there's to it.
+As long as it's work, of whatever kind,
+  I'm certain I cannot do it.
+
+
+
+
+Recuerdo
+
+
+We were very tired, we were very merry--
+We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
+It was bare and bright, and smelled like a stable--
+But we looked into a fire, we leaned across a table,
+We lay on the hill-top underneath the moon;
+And the whistles kept blowing, and the dawn came soon.
+
+We were very tired, we were very merry--
+We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry;
+And you ate an apple, and I ate a pear,
+From a dozen of each we had bought somewhere;
+And the sky went wan, and the wind came cold,
+And the sun rose dripping, a bucketful of gold.
+
+We were very tired, we were very merry,
+We had gone back and forth all night on the ferry.
+We hailed, "Good morrow, mother!" to a shawl-covered head,
+And bought a morning paper, which neither of us read;
+And she wept, "God bless you!" for the apples and pears,
+And we gave her all our money but our subway fares.
+
+--EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY, _in Poetry_.
+
+
+I was very sad, I was very solemn--
+I had worked all day grinding out a column.
+I came back from dinner at half-past seven,
+And I couldn't think of anything till quarter to eleven;
+And then I read "Recuerdo," by Miss Millay,
+And I said, "I'll bet a nickel I can write that way."
+
+I was very sad, I was very solemn--
+I had worked all day whittling out a column.
+I said, "I'll bet a nickel I can chirp such a chant,"
+And Mr. Geoffrey Parsons said, "I'll bet you can't."
+I bit a chunk of chocolate and found it sweet,
+And I listened to the trucking on Frankfort Street.
+
+I was very sad, I was very solemn--
+I had worked all day fooling with a column.
+I got as far as this and took my verses in
+To Mr. Geoffrey Parsons, who said, "Kid, you win."
+And--not that I imagine that any one'll care--
+I blew that jitney on a subway fare.
+
+
+
+
+On Tradition
+
+LINES PROVOKED BY HEARING A YOUNG MAN
+WHISTLING
+
+
+No carmine radical in Art,
+  I worship at the shrine of Form;
+Yet open are my mind and heart
+  To each departure from the norm.
+When Post-Impressionism emerged,
+  I hesitated but a minute
+Before I saw, though it diverged,
+  That there was something healthy in it.
+
+And eke when Music, heavenly maid,
+  Undid the chains that chafed her feet,
+I grew to like discordant shade--
+  Unharmony I thought was sweet.
+When verse divorced herself from sound,
+  I wept at first. Now I say: "Oh, well,
+I see some sense in Ezra Pound,
+  And nearly some in Amy Lowell."
+
+Yet, though I storm at every change,
+  And each mutation makes me wince,
+I am not shut to all things strange--
+  I'm rather easy to convince.
+But hereunto I set my seal,
+  My nerves awry, askew, abristling:
+_I'll never change the way I feel_
+  _Upon the question of Free Whistling._
+
+
+
+
+Unshackled Thoughts on Chivalry,
+Romance, Adventure, Etc.
+
+
+Yesterday afternoon, while I was
+walking on Worth Street,
+A gust of wind blew my hat off.
+I swore, petulantly, but somewhat noisily.
+A young woman had been near, walking behind me;
+She must have heard me, I thought.
+And I was ashamed, and embarrassedly sorry.
+So I said to her: "If you heard me, I beg your pardon."
+But she gave me a frightened look
+And ran across the street,
+Seeking a policeman.
+So I thought, Why waste five hours trying to versify the incident?
+Vers libre would serve her right.
+
+
+
+
+Results Ridiculous
+
+    ("Humourists have amused themselves by translating famous
+    sonnets into free verse. A result no less ridiculous would
+    have been obtained if somebody had rewritten a passage from
+    'Paradise Lost' as a rondeau."--GEORGE SOULE in the _New
+    Republic_.)
+
+
+"PARADISE LOST"
+
+Sing, Heavenly Muse, in lines that flow
+  More smoothly than the wandering Po,
+  Of man's descending from the height
+  Of Heaven itself, the blue, the bright,
+To Hell's unutterable throe.
+
+Of sin original and the woe
+That fell upon us here below
+    From man's pomonic primal bite--
+            Sing, Heavenly Muse!
+
+Of summer sun, of winter snow,
+Of future days, of long ago,
+  Of morning and "the shades of night,"
+  Of woman, "my ever new delight,"
+Go to it, Muse, and put us joe--
+            Sing, Heavenly Muse!
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+"THE RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER"
+
+The wedding guest sat on a stone,
+  He could not choose but hear
+The mariner. They were there alone.
+The wedding guest sat on a stone.
+"I'll read you something of my own,"
+  Declared that mariner.
+The wedding guest sat on a stone--
+  He could not choose but hear.
+
+
+
+
+Regarding (1) the U. S. and (2)
+New York
+
+
+Before I was a travelled bird,
+  I scoffed, in my provincial way,
+At other lands; I deemed absurd
+  All nations but these U. S. A.
+
+And--although Middle-Western born--
+  Before I was a travelled guy,
+I laughed at, with unhidden scorn,
+  All cities but New York, N. Y.
+
+But now I've been about a bit--
+  How travel broadens! How it does!
+And I have found out this, to wit:
+  How right I was! How right I was!
+
+
+
+
+Broadmindedness
+
+
+How narrow his vision, how cribbed and confined!
+  How prejudiced all of his views!
+How hard is the shell of his bigoted mind!
+  How difficult he to excuse!
+
+His face should be slapped and his head should be banged;
+  A person like that ought to die!
+I want to be fair, but a man should be hanged
+  Who's any less liberal than I.
+
+
+
+
+The Jazzy Bard
+
+
+Labor is a thing I do not like;
+Workin's makes me want to go on strike;
+Sittin' in an office on a sunny afternoon,
+Thinkin' o' nothin' but a ragtime tune.
+
+'Cause I got the blues, I said I got the blues,
+I got the paragraphic blues.
+Been a-sittin' here since ha' pas' ten,
+Bitin' a hole in my fountain pen;
+Brain's all stiff in the creakin' joints,
+Can't make up no wheezes on the Fourteen Points;
+Can't think o' nothin' 'bout the end o' booze,
+'Cause I got the para--, I said the paragraphic, I mean the column
+  conductin' blues.
+
+
+
+
+Lines on and from "Bartlett's
+Familiar Quotations"
+
+    ("Sir: For the first time in twenty-three years 'Bartlett's
+    Familiar Quotations' has been revised and enlarged, and under
+    separate cover we are sending you a copy of the new edition.
+    We would appreciate an expression of opinion from you of the
+    value of this work after you have had an ample opportunity of
+    examining it."--THE PUBLISHERS.)
+
+
+Of making many books there is no end--
+  So Sancho Panza said, and so say I.
+Thou wert my guide, philosopher and friend
+  When only one is shining in the sky.
+
+Books cannot always please, however good;
+  The good is oft interred with their bones.
+To be great is to be misunderstood,
+  The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans.
+
+The Moving Finger writes, and, having writ,
+  I never write as funny as I can.
+Remote, unfriended, studious let me sit
+  And say to all the world, "This was a man!"
+
+Go, lovely Rose that lives its little hour!
+  Go, little booke! and let who will be clever!
+Roll on! From yonder ivy-mantled tower
+  The moon and I could keep this up forever.
+
+
+
+
+Thoughts in a Far Country
+
+
+I rise and applaud, in the patriot manner,
+  Whenever (as often) I hear
+The palpitant strains of "The Star Spangled Banner,"--
+          I shout and cheer.
+
+And also, to show my unbounded devotion,
+  I jump to me feet with a "Whee!"
+Whenever "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean"
+          Is played near me.
+
+My fervour's so hot and my ardour so searing--
+  I'm hoarse for a couple of days--
+You've heard me, I'm positive, joyously cheering
+          "The Marseillaise."
+
+I holler for "Dixie." I go off my noodle,
+  I whistle, I pound, and I stamp
+Whenever an orchestra plays "Yankee Doodle,"
+          Or "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp."
+
+But if you would enter my confidence, Reader,
+  Know that I'd go clean off my dome,
+And madly embrace any orchestra leader
+          For "Home, Sweet Home."
+
+
+
+
+When You Meet a Man from Your
+Own Home Town
+
+
+Sing, O Muse, in the treble clef,
+A little song of the A. E. F.,
+And pardon me, please, if I give vent
+To something akin to sentiment.
+But we have our moments Over Here
+When we want to cry and we want to cheer;
+And the hurrah feeling will not down
+When you meet a man from your own home town.
+
+It's many a lonesome, longsome day
+Since you embarked from the U. S. A.,
+And you met some men--it's a great big war--
+From towns that you never had known before;
+And you landed here, and your rest camp mate
+Was a man from some strange and distant state.
+Liked him? Yes; but you wanted to see
+A man from the town where you used to be.
+
+And then you went, by design or chance,
+All over the well-known map of France;
+And you yearned with a yearn that grew and grew
+To talk with a man from the burg you knew.
+And some lugubrious morning when
+Your morale is batting about .110,
+"Where are you from?" and you make reply,
+And the O. D. warrior says, "So am I."
+
+The universe wears a smiling face
+As you spill your talk of the old home place;
+You talk of the streets, and the home town jokes,
+And you find that you know each other's folks;
+And you haven't any more woes at all
+As you both decide that the world _is_ small--
+A statement adding to its renown
+When you meet a man from your own home town.
+
+You may be among the enlisted men,
+You may be a Lieut. or a Major-Gen.;
+Your home may be up in the Chilkoot Pass,
+In Denver, Col., or in Pittsfield, Mass.;
+You may have come from Chicago, Ill.,
+Buffalo, Portland, or Louisville--
+But there's nothing, I'm gambling, can keep you down,
+When you meet a man from your own home town.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+If you want to know why I wrote this pome,
+Well ... I've just had a talk with a guy from home.
+
+
+
+
+The Shepherd's Resolution
+
+_If she be not so to me,
+What care I how fair she be?_
+
+                --WITHER.
+
+BY OUR OWN JEROME D. KERN, AUTHOR OF
+"YOU'RE HERE AND I'M HERE"
+
+
+I don't care if a girl is fair
+If she doesn't seem beautiful to me,
+I won't waste away if she's fair as day,
+Or prettier than meadows in the month of May;
+As long as you are there for me to see,
+I don't care and you don't care
+How many others are beyond compare--
+You're the only one I like to have around.
+
+I won't mind if she's everything combined,
+If she doesn't seem wonderful to me,
+I won't fret if she's everybody's pet,
+Or considered by all as the one best bet;
+As long as you and I are only we,
+I don't care and you don't care
+How many others are beyond compare,
+You're the only one I like to have around.
+
+
+
+
+"It Was a Famous Victory"
+
+(1944)
+
+
+It was a summer evening;
+  Old Kaspar was at home,
+Sitting before his cottage door--
+  Like in the Southey pome--
+And near him, with a magazine,
+Idled his grandchild, Geraldine.
+
+"Why don't you ask me," Kaspar said
+  To the child upon the floor,
+"Why don't you ask me what I did
+  When I was in the war?
+They told me that each little kid
+Would surely ask me what I did.
+
+"I've had my story ready
+  For thirty years or more."
+"Don't bother, Grandpa," said the child;
+  "I find such things a bore.
+Pray leave me to my magazine,"
+Asserted little Geraldine.
+
+Then entered little Peterkin,
+  To whom his gaffer said:
+"You'd like to hear about the war?
+  How I was left for dead?"
+"No. And, besides," declared the youth,
+"How do I know you speak the truth?"
+
+Arose that wan, embittered man,
+  The hero of this pome,
+And walked, with not unsprightly step,
+  Down to the Soldiers' Home,
+Where he, with seven other men,
+Sat swapping lies till half-past ten.
+
+
+
+
+On Profiteering
+
+
+Although I hate
+  A profiteer
+With unabat-
+  Ed loathing;
+Though I detest
+  The price they smear
+On pants and vest
+  And clothing;
+
+Yet I admit
+  My meed of crime,
+Nor do one whit
+  Regret it;
+I'd triple my
+  Price for a rhyme,
+If I thought I
+  Could get it.
+
+
+
+
+Despite
+
+
+The terrible things that the Governor
+  Of Kansas says alarm me;
+And yet somehow we won the war
+  In spite of the Regular Army.
+
+The things they say of the old N. G.
+  Are bitter and cruel and hard;
+And yet we walloped the enemy
+  In spite of the National Guard.
+
+Too late, too late, was our work begun;
+  Too late were our forces sent;
+And yet we smeared the horrible Hun
+  In spite of the President.
+
+"What a frightful flivver this Baker is!"
+  Cried many a Senator;
+And yet we handed the Kaiser his
+  In spite of the Sec. of War.
+
+A sadly incompetent, sinful crew
+  Is that of the recent fight;
+And yet we put it across, we do,
+  In spite of a lot of spite.
+
+
+
+
+The Return of the Soldier
+
+
+Lady, when I left you
+  Ere I sailed the sea,
+Bitterly bereft you
+  Told me you would be.
+
+Frequently and often
+  When I fought the foe,
+How my heart would soften,
+  Pitying your woe!
+
+Still, throughout my yearning,
+  It was my belief
+That my mere returning
+  Would annul your grief.
+
+Arguing _ex parte_,
+  Maybe you can tell
+Why I find your heart A.
+  W. O. L.
+
+
+
+
+"I Remember, I Remember"
+
+
+I remember, I remember
+The house where I was born;
+The rent was thirty-two a month,
+Which made my father mourn.
+He said he could remember when
+_His_ father paid the rent;
+And when a man's expenses did
+Not take his every cent.
+
+I remember, I remember--
+My mother telling my cousin
+That eggs had gone to twenty-six
+Or seven cents a dozen;
+And how she told my father that
+She didn't like to speak
+Of things like that, but Bridget now
+Demanded four a week.
+
+I remember, I remember--
+And with a mirthless laugh--
+My weekly board at college took
+A jump to three and a half.
+I bought an eighteen-dollar suit,
+And father told me, "Sonny,
+I'll pay the bill this time, but, Oh,
+I am not made of money!"
+
+I remember, I remember,
+When I was young and brave
+And I declared, "Well, Birdie, we
+Shall now begin to save."
+It was a childish ignorance,
+But now 'tis little joy
+To know I'm farther off from wealth
+Than when I was a boy.
+
+
+
+
+The Higher Education
+
+    (Harvard's prestige in football is a leading factor. The best
+    players in the big preparatory schools prefer to study at
+    Cambridge, where they can earn fame on the gridiron. They do
+    not care to be identified with Yale and Princeton.--JOE VILA
+    in the _Evening Sun_.)
+
+
+"Father," began the growing youth,
+  "Your pleading finds me deaf;
+Although I know you speak the truth
+  About the course at Shef.
+But think you that I have no pride,
+  To follow such a trail?
+I cannot be identified
+  With Princeton or with Yale."
+
+"Father," began another lad,
+  Emerging from his prep;
+"I know you are a Princeton grad,
+  But the coaches have no pep.
+But though the Princeton profs provide
+  Fine courses to inhale;
+I cannot be identified
+  With Princeton or with Yale."
+
+"I know," he said, "that Learning helps
+  A lot of growing chaps;
+That Yale has William Lyon Phelps,
+  And Princeton Edward Capps.
+But while, within the Football Guide,
+  The Haughton hosts prevail,
+I cannot be identified
+  With Princeton or with Yale."
+
+
+
+
+War and Peace
+
+
+"This war is a terrible thing," he said,
+"With its countless numbers of needless dead;
+A futile warfare it seems to me,
+Fought for no principle I can see.
+Alas, that thousands of hearts should bleed
+For naught but a tyrant's boundless greed!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Said the wholesale grocer, in righteous mood,
+As he went to adulterate salable food.
+
+Spake as follows the merchant king:
+"Isn't this war a disgraceful thing?
+Heartless, cruel, and useless, too;
+It doesn't seem that it _can_ be true.
+Think of the misery, want, and fear!
+We ought to be grateful we've no war here.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"Six a week"--to a girl--"That's flat!
+I can get a thousand to work for that."
+
+
+
+
+Fifty-Fifty
+
+
+For something like eleven summers
+  I've written things that aimed to teach
+Our careless mealy-mouthed mummers
+  To be more sedulous of speech.
+
+So sloppy of articulation
+  So limping and so careless they
+About distinct enunciation,
+  Often I don't know what they say.
+
+The other night an able actor,
+  Declaiming of some lines I heard,
+I hailed a public benefactor,
+  As I distinguished every word.
+
+But, oh! the subtle disappointment!
+  Thorn on the celebrated rose
+And fly within the well-known ointment!
+  (Allusions everybody knows.)
+
+Came forth the words exact and snappy.
+  And as I sat there, that P.M.,
+I mused, "Was I not just as happy
+  When I could not distinguish them?"
+
+
+
+
+"So Shines a Good Deed in a
+Naughty World"
+
+
+There was a man in our town, and he was wondrous rich;
+He gave away his millions to the colleges and sich;
+And people cried: "The hypocrite! He ought to understand
+The ones who really need him are the children of this land."
+
+When Andrew Croesus built a home for children who were sick,
+The people said they rather thought he did it as a trick,
+And writers said: "He thinks about the drooping girls and boys,
+But what about conditions with the men whom he employs?"
+
+There was a man in our town who said that he would share
+His profits with his laborers, for that was only fair,
+And people said: "Oh, isn't he the shrewd and foxy gent?
+It cost him next to nothing for that free advertisement."
+
+There was a man in our town who had the perfect plan
+To do away with poverty and other ills of man,
+But he feared the public jeering, and the folks who would defame him,
+So he never told the plan he had, and I can hardly blame him.
+
+
+
+
+Vain Words
+
+
+Humble, surely, mine ambition;
+  It is merely to construct
+Some occasion or condition
+  When I may say "usufruct."
+
+Earnest am I and assiduous;
+  Yet I'm certain that I shan't amount
+To a lot till I use "viduous,"
+  "Indiscerptible," and "tantamount."
+
+
+
+
+On the Importance of Being
+Earnest
+
+
+"Gentle Jane was as good as gold,"
+  To borrow a line from Mr. Gilbert;
+She hated War with a hate untold,
+  She was a pacifistic filbert.
+If you said "Perhaps"--she'd leave the hall.
+You couldn't argue with her at all.
+
+"Teasing Tom was a very bad boy,"
+  (Pardon my love for a good quotation).
+To talk of war was his only joy,
+  And his single purpose was Preparation.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+And what both of these children had to say
+I never knew, for I ran away.
+
+
+
+
+It Happens in the B. R. Families
+
+WITH THE CUSTOMARY OBEISANCES
+
+
+'Twas on the shores that round our coast
+  From Deal to Newport lie
+That I roused from sleep in a huddled heap
+  An elderly wealthy guy.
+
+His hair was graying, his hair was long,
+  And graying and long was he;
+And I heard this grouch on the shore avouch,
+  In a singular jazzless key:
+
+"Oh, I am a cook and a waitress trim
+  And the maid of the second floor,
+And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep_er_.
+  And the man who tends the door!"
+
+And he shook his fists and he tore his hair,
+  And he started to frisk and play,
+Till I couldn't help thinking the man had been drinking,
+  So I said (in the Gilbert way):
+
+"Oh, elderly man, I don't know much
+  Of the ways of societee,
+But I'll eat my friend if I comprehend
+  However you can be
+
+"At once a cook and a waitress trim
+  And the maid of the second floor,
+And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep_er_,
+  And the man who tends the door."
+
+Then he smooths his hair with a nervous air,
+  And a gulp in his throat he swallows,
+And that elderly guy he then lets fly
+  Substantially as follows:
+
+"We had a house down Newport way,
+  And we led a simple life;
+There was only I," said the elderly guy,
+  "And my daughter and my wife.
+
+"And of course the cook and the waitress trim
+  And the maid of the second floor,
+And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep_er_,
+  And the man who tends the door.
+
+"One day the cook she up and left,
+  She up and left us flat.
+She was getting a hundred and ten a mon-
+  Th, but she couldn't work for that.
+
+"And the waitress trim was her bosom friend,
+  And she wouldn't stay no more;
+And our strong chauffeur eloped with her
+  Who was maid of the second floor.
+
+"And we couldn't get no other help,
+  So I had to cook and wait.
+It was quite absurd," wept the elderly bird.
+  "I deserve a better fate.
+
+"And I drove the car and I made the beds
+  Till the housekeeper up and quit;
+And the man at the door found that a bore,
+  Which is why I am, to wit:
+
+"At once a cook and a waitress trim
+  And the maid of the second floor,
+And a strong chauffeur and a housekeep_er_,
+  And the man who tends the door."
+
+
+
+
+Abelard and Heloise
+
+    ["There are so many things I want to talk to you about."
+    Abelard probably said to Heloise, "but how can I when I can
+    only think about kissing you?"--KATHARINE LANE in the
+    _Evening Mail_.]
+
+
+Said Abelard to Heloise:
+"Your tresses blowing in the breeze
+Enchant my soul; your cheek allures;
+I never knew such lips as yours."
+
+Said Heloise to Abelard:
+"I know that it is cruel, hard,
+To make you fold your yearning arms
+And think of things besides my charms."
+
+Said Abelard to Heloise:
+"Pray let's discuss the Portuguese;
+Their status in the League of Nations.
+... Come, slip me seven osculations."
+
+"The Fourteen Points," said Heloise,
+"Are pure Woodrovian fallacies."
+Said Abelard: "Ten times fourteen
+The points you have, O beaucoup queen!"
+
+"Lay off," said Heloise, "all that stuff.
+I've heard the same old thing enough."
+"But," answered Abelard, "your lips
+Put all my thoughts into eclipse."
+
+"O Abelard," said Heloise,
+"Don't take so many liberties."
+"O Heloise," said Abelard,
+"I do it but to show regard."
+
+And Heloise told her chum that night
+That Abelard was Awful Bright;
+And--thus is drawn the cosmic plan--
+She _loved_ an Intellectual Man.
+
+
+
+
+Lines Written on the Sunny Side
+of Frankfort Street
+
+
+Sporting with Amaryllis in the shade,
+  (I credit Milton in parenthesis),
+Among the speculations that she made
+            Was this:
+
+"When"--these her very words--"when you return,
+  A slave to duty's harsh commanding call,
+Will you, I wonder, ever sigh and yearn
+            At all?"
+
+Doubt, honest doubt, sat then upon my brow.
+  (Emotion is a thing I do not plan.)
+I could not fairly answer then, but now
+            I can.
+
+Yes, Amaryllis, I can tell you this,
+  Can answer publicly and unafraid:
+You haven't any notion how I miss
+            The shade.
+
+
+
+
+Fifty-Fifty
+
+    [We think about the feminine faces we meet in the streets,
+    and experience a passing melancholy because we are
+    unacquainted with some of the girls we see.--From "The Erotic
+    Motive in Literature," by ALBERT MORDELL.]
+
+
+Whene'er I take my walks abroad,
+  How many girls I see
+Whose form and features I applaud
+  With well-concealed glee!
+
+I'd speak to many a sonsie maid,
+  Or willowy or obese,
+Were I not fearful, and afraid
+  She'd yell for the police.
+
+And Melancholy, bittersweet,
+  Marks me then as her own,
+Because I lack the nerve to greet
+  The girls I might have known.
+
+Yet though with sadness I am fraught,
+  (As I remarked before),
+There is one sweetly solemn thought
+  Comes to me o'er and o'er:
+
+For every shadow cloud of woe
+  Hath argentine alloy;
+I see some girls I do not know,
+  And feel a passing joy.
+
+
+
+
+To Myrtilla
+
+
+Twelve fleeting years ago, my Myrt,
+  (_Eheu fugaces!_ maybe more)
+I wrote of the directoire skirt
+            You wore.
+
+Ten years ago, Myrtilla mine,
+  The hobble skirt engaged my pen.
+That was, I calculate, in Nine-
+            Teen Ten.
+
+The polo coat, the feathered lid,
+  The phony furs of yesterfall,
+The current shoe--I tried to kid
+            Them all.
+
+Vain every vitriolic bit,
+  Silly all my sulphuric song.
+Rube Goldberg said a bookful; it
+            'S all wrong.
+
+Bitter the words I used to fling,
+  But you, despite my angriest Note,
+Were never swayed by anything
+            I wrote.
+
+So I surrender. I am beat.
+  And, though the admission rather girds,
+In any garb you're just too sweet
+            For words.
+
+
+
+
+A Psalm of Labouring Life
+
+
+Tell me not, in doctored numbers,
+  Life is but a name for work!
+For the labour that encumbers
+  Me I wish that I could shirk.
+
+Life is phony! Life is rotten!
+  And the wealthy have no soul;
+Why should you be picking cotton?
+  Why should I be mining coal?
+
+Not employment and not sorrow
+  Is my destined end or way;
+But to act that each to-morrow
+  Finds me idler than to-day.
+
+Work is long, and plutes are lunching;
+  Money is the thing I crave;
+But my heart continues punching
+  Funeral time-clocks to the grave.
+
+In the world's uneven battle,
+  In the swindle known as life,
+Be not like the stockyards cattle--
+  Stick your partner with a knife!
+
+Trust no Boss, however pleasant!
+  Capital is but a curse!
+Strike,--strike in the living present!
+  Fill, oh fill, the bulging purse!
+
+Lives of strikers all remind us
+  We can make our lives a crime,
+And, departing, leave behind us
+  Bills for double overtime.
+
+Charges that, perhaps another,
+  Working for a stingy ten
+Bucks a day, some mining brother
+  Seeing, shall walk out again.
+
+Let us, then, be up and striking,
+  Discontent with all of it;
+Still undoing, still disliking,
+  Learn to labour--and to quit.
+
+
+
+
+Ballade of Ancient Acts
+
+AFTER HENLEY
+
+
+Where are the wheezes they essayed
+And where the smiles they made to flow?
+Where's Caron's seltzer siphon laid,
+A squirt from which laid Herbert low?
+Where's Charlie Case's comic woe
+And Georgie Cohan's nasal drawl?
+The afterpiece? The olio?
+Into the night go one and all.
+
+Where are the japeries, fresh or frayed,
+That Fields and Lewis used to throw?
+Where is the horn that Shepherd played?
+The slide trombone that Wood would blow?
+Amelia Glover's l. f. toe?
+The Rays and their domestic brawl?
+Bert Williams with "Oh, _I_ Don't Know?"
+Into the night go one and all.
+
+Where's Lizzie Raymond, peppy jade?
+The braggart Lew, the simple Joe?
+And where the Irish servant maid
+That Jimmie Russell used to show?
+Charles Sweet, who tore the paper snow?
+Ben Harney's where? And Artie Hall?
+Nash Walker, Darktown's grandest beau?
+Into the night go one and all.
+
+
+L'ENVOI
+
+Prince, though our children laugh "Ho! Ho!"
+At us who gleefully would fall
+For acts that played the Long Ago,
+Into the night go one and all.
+
+
+
+
+To a Prospective Cook
+
+
+Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?
+Thou shalt not wash dishes, nor yet weed the flowers,
+But stand in the kitchen and cook a fine meal,
+And ride every night in an automobile.
+
+Curly Locks, Curly Locks, come to us soon!
+Thou needst not to rise until mid-afternoon;
+Thou mayst be Croatian, Armenian, or Greek;
+Thy guerdon shall be what thou askest per week.
+
+Curly Locks, Curly Locks, give us a chance!
+Thou shalt not wash windows, nor iron my pants.
+Oh, come to the cosiest of seven-room bowers,
+Curly Locks, Curly Locks, wilt thou be ours?
+
+
+
+
+Variation on a Theme
+
+June 30, 1919.
+
+
+Notably fond of music, I dote on a clearer tone
+Than ever was blared by a bugle or zoomed by a saxophone;
+And the sound that opens the gates for me of a Paradise revealed
+Is something akin to the note revered by the blessed Eugene Field,
+Who sang in pellucid phrasing that I perfectly well recall
+Of the clink of the ice in the pitcher that the boy brings up the hall.
+But sweeter to me than the sparrow's song or the goose's autumn honks
+Is the sound of the ice in the shaker as the barkeeper mixes a Bronx.
+
+Between the dark and the daylight, when I'm worried about The Tower,
+Comes a pause in the day's tribulations that is known as the cocktail
+  hour;
+And my soul is sad and jaded, and my heart is a thing forlorn,
+And I view the things I have written with a sickening, scathing scorn.
+Oh, it's then I fare with some other slave who is hired for the things
+  he writes
+To a Den of Sin where they mingle gin--such as Lipton's, Mouquin's, or
+  Whyte's,
+And my spirit thrills to a music sweeter than Sullivan or Puccini--
+The swash of the ice in the shaker as he mixes a Dry Martini.
+
+The drys will assert that metallic sound is the selfsame canon made
+By the ice in the shaker that holds a drink like orange or lemonade;
+But on the word of a travelled man and a bard who has been around,
+The sound of tin on ice and gin is a snappier, happier sound.
+And I mean to hymn, as soon as I have a moment of leisure time,
+The chill susurrus of cocktail ice in an adequate piece of rhyme.
+But I've just had an invitation to hark, at a beckoning bar,
+To the sound of the ice in the shaker as the barkeeper mixes a Star.
+
+
+
+
+"Such Stuff as Dreams"
+
+
+Jenny kiss'd me in a dream;
+  So did Elsie, Lucy, Cora,
+Bessie, Gwendolyn, Eupheme,
+  Alice, Adelaide, and Dora.
+Say of honour I'm devoid,
+  Say monogamy has miss'd me,
+But don't say to Dr. Freud
+        Jenny kiss'd me.
+
+
+
+
+The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide
+
+
+They brought to me his mangled corpse
+  And I feared lest I should swing.
+"O tell me, tell me,--and make it brief--
+  Why hast thou done this thing?
+
+"Had this man robbed the starving poor
+  Or lived a gunman's life,
+Had he set fire to cottages,
+  Or run off with thy wife?"
+
+"He hath not robbed the starving poor,
+  Nor lived a gunman's life;
+He hath set fire to no cottage,
+  Nor run off with my wife.
+
+"Ye ask me such a question that
+  It now my lips unlocks:
+I learned he was the man who planned
+  The second balcony box."
+
+The jury pondered never an hour,
+  They thought not even a little,
+But handed in unanimously
+  A verdict of acquittal.
+
+
+
+
+The Ballad of the Murdered
+Merchant
+
+
+All stark and cold the merchant lay,
+  All cold and stark lay he.
+And who hath killed this fair mer_chant_?
+  Now tell the truth to me.
+
+Oh, I have killed this fair mer_chant_
+  Will never again draw breath;
+Oh, I have made this fair mer_chant_
+  To come unto his death.
+
+Oh, why hast thou killed this fair mer_chant_
+  Whose corse I now behold?
+And why hast caused this man to lie
+  In death all stark and cold?
+
+Oh, I have killed this fair mer_chant_
+  Whose kith and kin make moan,
+For that he hath stolen my precious time
+  When he useth the telephone.
+
+The telephone bell rang full and clear;
+  The receiver did I seize.
+"Hello!" quoth I, and quoth a girl,
+  "Hello!... One moment, please."
+
+I waited moments ane and twa,
+  And moments three and four,
+And then I sought that fair mer_chant_
+  And spilled his selfish gore.
+
+That business man who scorneth to waste
+  His moments sae rich and fine
+In calling a man to the telephone
+  Shall never again waste mine!
+
+And every time a henchwom_an_
+  Shall cause me a moment's loss,
+I'll forthwith fare to that of_fice_
+  And stab to death her boss.
+
+Rise up! Rise up! thou blessed knight!
+  And off thy bended knees!
+Go forth and slay all folk who make
+  Us wait "One moment, please."
+
+
+
+
+A Gotham Garden of Verses
+
+
+I
+
+In summer when the days are hot
+The subway is delayed a lot;
+In winter, quite the selfsame thing;
+In autumn also, and in spring.
+
+And does it not seem strange to you
+That transportation is askew
+In this--I pray, restrain your mirth!--
+In this, the Greatest Town on Earth?
+
+
+II
+
+All night long and every night
+The neighbours dance for my delight;
+I hear the people dance and sing
+Like practically anything.
+
+Women and men and girls and boys,
+All making curious kinds of noise
+And dancing in so weird a way,
+I never saw the like by day.
+
+So loud a show was never heard
+As that which yesternight occurred:
+They danced and sang, as I have said,
+As I lay wakeful on my bed.
+
+They shout and cry and yell and laugh
+And play upon the phonograph;
+And endlessly I count the sheep,
+Endeavouring to fall asleep.
+
+
+III
+
+It is very nice to think
+This town is full of meat and drink;
+That is, I'd think it very nice
+If my papa but had the price.
+
+
+IV
+
+This town is so full of a number of folks,
+I'm sure there will always be matter for jokes.
+
+
+
+
+Lines on Reading Frank J. Wilstach's
+"A Dictionary of Similes"
+
+
+As neat as wax, as good as new,
+As true as steel, as truth is true,
+Good as a sermon, keen as hate,
+Full as a tick, and fixed as fate--
+
+Brief as a dream, long as the day,
+Sweet as the rosy morn in May,
+Chaste as the moon, as snow is white,
+Broad as barn doors, and new as sight--
+
+Useful as daylight, firm as stone,
+Wet as a fish, dry as a bone,
+Heavy as lead, light as a breeze--
+Frank Wilstach's book of similes.
+
+
+
+
+The Dictaphone Bard
+
+    [And here is a suggestion: Did you ever try dictating your
+    stories or articles to the dictaphone for the first draft? I
+    would be glad to have you come down and make the
+    experiment.--From a shorthand reporter's circular letter.]
+
+(As "The Ballad of the Tempest" would have
+to issue from the dictaphone to the stenographer)
+
+_Begin each line with a capital. Indent alternate
+lines. Double space after each fourth
+line._
+
+
+_We were crowded in the cabin comma
+  Not a soul would dare to sleep dash comma
+It was midnight on the waters comma
+  And a storm was on the deep period_
+
+_Apostrophe Tis a fearful thing in capital Winter
+  To be shattered by the blast comma
+And to hear the rattling trumpet
+  Thunder colon quote capital Cut away the mast exclamation point
+    close quote_
+
+_So we shuddered there in silence comma dash
+  For the stoutest held his breath comma
+While the hungry sea was roaring comma
+ And the breakers talked with capital Death period_
+
+_As thus we sat in darkness comma
+  Each one busy with his prayers comma
+Quote We are lost exclamation point close quote the captain shouted comma
+  As he staggered down the stairs period_
+
+_But his little daughter whispered comma
+  As she took his icy hand colon
+Quote Isn't capital God upon the ocean comma
+  Just the same as on the land interrogation point close quote_
+
+_Then we kissed the little maiden comma
+  And we spake in better cheer comma
+And we anchored safe in harbor
+  When the morn was shining clear period_
+
+
+
+
+The Comfort of Obscurity
+
+INSPIRED BY READING MR. KIPLING'S POEMS AS
+PRINTED IN THE NEW YORK PAPERS
+
+
+Though earnest and industrious,
+I still am unillustrious;
+    No papers empty purses
+    Printing verses
+        Such as mine.
+No lack of fame is chronicker
+Than that about my monicker;
+    My verse is never cabled
+    At a fabled
+        Rate per line.
+
+Still though the Halls
+Of Literature are closed
+To me a bard obscure I
+Have a consolation The
+Copyreaders crude and rough
+Can't monkey with my
+Humble stuff and change MY
+Punctuation.
+
+
+
+
+Ballade of the Traffickers
+
+
+Up goes the price of our bread--
+Up goes the cost of our caking!
+People must ever be fed;
+Bakers must ever be baking.
+So, though our nerves may be quaking,
+Dumbly, in arrant despair,
+Pay we the crowd that is taking
+All that the traffic will bear.
+
+Costly to sleep in a bed!
+Costlier yet to be waking!
+Costly for one who is wed!
+Ruinous for one who is raking!
+Tradespeople, ducking and draking,
+Charge you as much as they dare,
+Asking, without any faking,
+All that the traffic will bear.
+
+Roof that goes over our head,
+Thirst so expensive for slaking,
+Paper, apparel, and lead--
+Why are their prices at breaking?
+Yet, though our purses be aching,
+Little the traffickers care;
+Getting, for chopping and steaking,
+All that the traffic will bear.
+
+
+L'ENVOI
+
+Take thou my verses, I pray, King,
+Letting my guerdon be fair.
+Even a bard must be making
+All that the traffic will bear.
+
+
+
+
+To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing
+The Conning Tower
+
+
+William, it was, I think, three years ago--
+  As I recall, one cool October morning--
+(You have _The Tribune_ files; I think they'll show
+        I gave you warning).
+
+I said, in well-selected words and terse,
+  In phrases balanced, yet replete with power,
+That I should cease to pen the prose and verse
+        Known as The Tower.
+
+That I should stop this Labyrinth of Light--
+  Though stopping make the planet leaden-hearted--
+Unless you stopped the well-known _Schrecklichkeit_
+        Your nation started.
+
+I printed it in type that you could read;
+  My paragraphs were thewed, my rhymes were sinewed.
+You paid, I judge from what ensued, no heed ...
+        The war continued.
+
+And though my lines with fortitude were fraught,
+  Although my words were strong, and stripped of stuffing,
+You, William, thought--oh, yes, you did--you thought
+        That I was bluffing.
+
+You thought that I would fail to see it through!
+  You thought that, at the crux of things, I'd cower!
+How little, how imperfectly you knew
+        The Conning Tower!
+
+You'll miss the column at the break of day.
+  I have no fear that I shall be forgotten.
+You'll miss the daily privilege to say:
+        "That stuff is rotten!"
+
+Or else--as sometimes has occurred--when I
+  Have chanced upon a lucky line to blunder,
+You'll miss the precious privilege to cry:
+        "That bird's a wonder!"
+
+Well, William, when your people cease to strafe,
+  When you have put an end to all this war stuff,
+When all the world is reasonably safe,
+        I'll write some more stuff.
+
+And when you miss the quip and wanton wile,
+  And learn you can't endure the Towerless season,
+O William, I shall not be petty ... I'll
+        Listen to reason.
+
+_October 5, 1917._
+
+
+
+
+To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming
+The Conning Tower
+
+
+Well, William, since I wrote you long ago--
+  As I recall, one cool October morning--
+(I have _The Tribune_ files. They clearly show
+        I gave you warning.)
+
+Since when I penned that consequential ode,
+  The world has seen a vast amount of slaughter,
+And under many a Gallic bridge has flowed
+        A lot of water.
+
+I said that when your people ceased to strafe,
+  That when you'd put an end to all this war stuff,
+And all the world was reasonably safe
+        I'd write some more stuff;
+
+That when you missed the quip and wanton wile
+  And learned you couldn't bear a Towerless season,
+I quote: "O, I shall not be petty.... I'll
+        Listen to reason."
+
+_Labuntur anni_, not to say _Eheu
+  Fugaces_! William, by my shoulders glistening!
+I have the final laugh, for it was you
+        Who did the listening.
+
+_January 15, 1919._
+
+
+
+
+Thoughts on the Cosmos
+
+
+I
+
+I do not hold with him who thinks
+The world is jonahed by a jinx;
+That everything is sad and sour,
+And life a withered hothouse flower.
+
+
+II
+
+I hate the Pollyanna pest
+Who says that All Is for the Best,
+And hold in high, unhidden scorn
+Who sees the Rose, nor feels the Thorn.
+
+
+III
+
+I do not like extremists who
+Are like the pair in (I) and (II);
+But how I hate the wabbly gink,
+Like me, who knows not what to think!
+
+
+
+
+On Environment
+
+
+I used to think that this environ-
+  Ment talk was all a lot of guff;
+Place mattered not with Keats and Byron
+              Stuff.
+
+If I have thoughts that need disclosing,
+  Bright be the day or hung with gloom,
+I'll write in Heaven or the composing-
+              Room.
+
+Times are when with my nerves a-tingle,
+  Joyous and bright the songs I sing;
+Though, gay, I can't dope out a single
+              Thing.
+
+And yet, by way of illustration,
+  The gods my graying head anoint ...
+I wrote _this_ piece at Inspiration
+               Point.
+
+
+
+
+The Ballad of the Thoughtless
+Waiter
+
+
+I saw him lying cold and dead
+  Who yesterday was whole.
+"Why," I inquired, "hath he expired?
+  And why hath fled his soul?"
+
+"But yesterday," his comrade said,
+  "All health was his, and strength;
+And this is why he came to die--
+  If I may speak at length.
+
+"But yesternight at dinnertime
+  At a not unknown cafe,
+He had a frugal meal as you
+  Might purchase any day.
+
+"The check for his so simple fare
+  Was only eighty cents,
+And a dollar bill with a right good will
+  Came from his opulence.
+
+"The waiter brought him twenty cents.
+  'Twas only yesternight
+That he softly said who now is dead
+  'Oh, keep it. 'At's a' right.'
+
+"And the waiter plainly uttered 'Thanks,'
+  With no hint of scorn or pride;
+And my comrade's heart gave a sudden start
+  And my comrade up and died."
+
+Now waiters overthwart this land,
+  In tearooms and in dives,
+Mute be your lips whatever the tips,
+  And save your customers' lives.
+
+
+
+
+Rus Vs. Urbs
+
+
+Whene'er the penner of this pome
+Regards a lovely country home,
+He sighs, in words not insincere,
+"I think I'd like to live out here."
+
+And when the builder of this ditty
+Returns to this pulsating city,
+The perpetrator of this pome
+Yearns for a lovely country home.
+
+
+
+
+"I'm Out of the Army Now"
+
+
+When first I doffed my olive drab,
+I thought, delightedly though mutely,
+"Henceforth I shall have pleasure ab-
+              Solutely."
+
+Dull with the drudgery of war,
+Sick of the very name of fighting,
+I yearned, I thought, for something more
+              Exciting.
+
+The rainbow be my guide, quoth I;
+My suit shall be a brave and proud one
+Gay-hued my socks; and oh, my tie
+              A loud one!
+
+For me the theatre and the dance;
+Primrose the path I would be wending;
+For me the roses of romance
+              Unending.
+
+Those were my inner thoughts that day
+(And those of many another million)
+When once again I should be a
+              Civilian.
+
+I would not miss the old o. d.;
+(Monotony I didn't much like)
+I would not miss the reveille,
+              And such like.
+
+I don't ... And do I now enjoy
+My walks along the primrose way so?
+Is civil life the life? Oh, boy,
+              I'll say so.
+
+
+
+
+"Oh Man!"
+
+
+Man hath harnessed the lightning;
+  Man hath soared to the skies;
+  Mountain and hill are clay to his will;
+Skilful he is, and wise.
+Sea to sea hath he wedded,
+  Canceled the chasm of space,
+Given defeat to cold and heat;
+  Splendour is his, and grace.
+
+His are the topless turrets;
+  His are the plumbless pits;
+Earth is slave to his architrave,
+  Heaven is thrall to his wits.
+And so in the golden future,
+  He who hath dulled the storm
+(As said above) may make a glove
+  That'll keep my fingers warm.
+
+
+
+
+An Ode in Time of Inauguration
+
+(March 4, 1913)
+
+
+Thine aid, O Muse, I consciously beseech;
+  I crave thy succour, ask for thine assistance
+That men may cry: "Some little ode! A peach!"
+  O Muse, grant me the strength to go the distance!
+For odes, I learn, are dithyrambs, and long;
+  Exalted feeling, dignity of theme
+And complicated structure guide the song.
+  (All this from Webster's book of high esteem.)
+
+Let complicated structure not becloud
+  My lucid lines, nor weight with overloading.
+To Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth and that crowd
+  I yield the bays for ground and lofty oding.
+Mine but the task to trace a country's growth,
+  As evidenced by each inauguration
+From Washington's to Wilson's primal oath--
+  In these U. S., the celebrated nation.
+
+But stay! or ever that I start to sing,
+  Or e'er I loose my fine poetic forces,
+I ought, I think, to do the decent thing,
+  To wit: give credit to my many sources:
+Barnes's "Brief History of the U. S. A.,"
+  Bryce, Ridpath, Scudder, Fiske, J. B. McMaster,
+A book of odes, a Webster, a Roget--
+  The bibliography of this poetaster.
+
+Flow, flow, my pen, as gently as sweet Afton ever flowed!
+An thou dost ill, shall this be still a poor thing, but mine ode.
+
+G. W., initial prex,
+  Right down in Wall Street, New York City,
+Took his first oath. Oh, multiplex
+  The whimsies quaint, the comments witty
+One might evolve from that! I scorn
+To mock the spot where he was sworn.
+
+On next Inauguration Day
+  He took the avouchment sempiternal
+Way down in Phil-a-delph-i-a,
+  Where rises now the L. H. Journal.
+His Farewell Speech in '96
+Said: "'Ware the Trusts and all their tricks!"
+
+John Adams fell on darksome days:
+  March Fourth was blustery and sleety;
+The French behaved in horrid ways
+  Until John Jay drew up a treaty.
+Came the Eleventh Amendment, too,
+Providing that--but why tell _you_?
+
+T. Jefferson, one history showed,
+  Held all display was vain and idle;
+Alone, unpanoplied, he rode;
+  Alone he hitched his horse's bridle.
+No ball that night, and no carouse,
+But back to Conrad's boarding house.
+
+He tied that bridle to the fence
+  The morning of inauguration;
+John Davis saw him do it; whence
+  Arose his "simple" reputation.
+The White House, though, with Thomas J.,
+Had chefs--and parties every day.
+
+
+THE MUSE INTERRUPTS THE ODIST
+
+If I were you I think I'd change my medium;
+  I weary of your meter and your style.
+The sameness of it sickens me to tedium;
+  I'll quit unless you switch it for a while.
+
+
+THE ODIST REPLIES
+
+I bow to thee, my Muse, most eloquent of pleaders;
+But why embarrass me in front of all these readers?
+
+Madison's inauguration
+Was a lovely celebration.
+In a suit of wool domestic
+Rode he, stately and majestic,
+Making it be manifest
+Clothes American are best.
+This has thundered through the ages.
+(See our advertising pages.)
+
+Lightly I pass along, and so
+Come to the terms of James Monroe
+Who framed the doctrine far too well
+Known for an odist to retell.
+His period of friendly dealing
+Began The Era of Good Feeling.
+
+John Quincy Adams followed him in Eighteen Twenty-four;
+Election was exciting--the details I shall ignore.
+But his inauguration as our country's President
+Was, take it from McMaster, some considerable event.
+It was a brilliant function, and I think I ought to add
+The Philadelphia "Ledger" said a gorgeous time was had.
+
+Old Andrew Jackson's pair of terms were terribly exciting;
+That stern, intrepid warrior had little else than fighting.
+A time of strife and turbulence, of politics and flurry.
+But deadly dull for poem themes, so, Mawruss, I should worry!
+
+In Washington did Martin Van
+  A stately custom then decree:
+Old Hickory, the veteran,
+Must ride with him, the people's man,
+  For all the world to see.
+A pleasant custom, in a way,
+  And yet I should have laughed
+To see the Sage of Oyster Bay
+  On Tuesday ride with Taft.
+(Pardon me this
+  Parenthetical halt:
+That sight you'll miss,
+  But it isn't my fault.)
+
+William Henry Harrison came
+  Riding a horse of alabaster,
+But the weather that day was a sin and a shame,
+  Take it from me and John McMaster.
+Only a month--and Harrison died,
+And V.-P. Tyler began preside.
+A far from popular prex was he,
+And the next one was Polk of Tennessee.
+There were two inaugural balls for him,
+But the rest of his record is rather dim.
+
+Had I the pen of a Pope or a Thackeray,
+  Had I the wisdom of Hegel or Kant,
+Then might I sing as I'd like to of Zachary,
+  Then might I sing a Taylorian chant.
+Oh, for the lyrical art of a Tennyson!
+  Oh, for the skill of Macaulay or Burke!
+None of these mine; so I give him my benison,
+  Turning reluctantly back to my work.
+
+O Millard Fillmore! when a man refers
+To thee, what direful, awful thing occurs?
+Though in itself thy name hath nought of wit,
+Yet--and this doth confound me to admit
+When I do hear it, I do smile; nay, more--
+I laugh, I scream, I cachinnate, I roar
+As Wearied Business Men do shake with glee
+At mimes that say "Dubuque" or "Kankakee";
+As basement-brows that laugh at New Rochelle;
+As lackwits laugh when actors mention Hell.
+Perhaps--it may be so--I am not sure--
+Perhaps it is that thou wast so obscure,
+And that one seldom hears a single word of thee;
+I know a lot of girls that never heard of thee.
+Hence did I smile, perhaps.... How very near
+The careless laughing to the thoughtful tear!
+O Fillmore, let me sheathe my mocking pen.
+God rest thee! I'll not laugh at thee again!
+
+I have heard it remarked that to Pierce's election
+There wasn't a soul had the slightest objection.
+I have also been told, by some caustical wit,
+That no one said nay when he wanted to quit.
+    Yet Franklin Pierce, forgotten man,
+      I celebrate your fame.
+    I'm doing just the best I can
+      To keep alive your name,
+    Though as a President, F. P.,
+    You didn't do as much for me.
+
+Of James Buchanan things a score
+  I might recite. I'll say that he was
+The only White House bachelor--
+  The only one, that's what J. B. was.
+      For he was a bachelor--
+    For he might have been a bigamist,
+    A Mormon, a polygamist,
+      And had thirty wives or more;
+    But this be his memorial:
+    He was ever unuxorial,
+      And remained a bachelor--
+      He re-mai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ai-ained a bachelor.
+
+Lincoln! I falter, feeling it to be
+As if all words of mine in praise of him
+Were as the veriest dolt that saw the sun;
+And God had spoken him and said to him:
+"I bid you tell me what you think of it."
+And he should answer: "Oh, the sun is nice."
+So sadly fitted I to speak in praise
+Of Lincoln.
+
+Now during Andrew Johnson's term the currency grew stable;
+We bought Alaska and we laid the great Atlantic cable;
+And then there came eight years of Grant; thereafter four of Hayes;
+And in his time the parties fell on fierce and parlous days;
+And Garfield came, and Arthur too, and Congress shoes were worn,
+And Brooklyn Bridge was built, and I, your gifted bard, was born.
+
+Cleveland and Harrison came along then;
+Followed an era of Cleveland again.
+Came then McKinley and--light me a pipe--
+Hey, there, composing room, get some new type!
+
+_I sing him now as I shall sing him again;
+  I sing him now as I have sung before.
+How fluently his name comes off my pen!
+                O Theodore!_
+
+_Bless you and keep you, T. R.!
+  Energy tireless, eternal,
+Fixed and particular star,
+  Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel._
+
+_Energy tireless, eternal;
+  Hater of grafters and crooks!
+Theodore, Teddy, the Colonel,
+  Writer and lover of books,_
+
+_Hater of grafters and crooks,
+  Forceful, adroit, and expressive,
+Writer and lover of books,
+  Nevertheless a Progressive._
+
+_Forceful, adroit, and expressive,
+  Often asserting the trite;
+Nevertheless a Progressive;
+  Errant, but generally right._
+
+_Often asserting the trite;
+  Stubborn, and no one can force you.
+Errant, but generally right--
+  Yet, on the whole, I indorse you._
+
+_Stubborn, and no one can force you,
+  Fixed and particular star,
+Yet, on the whole, I indorse you,
+  Bless you and keep you, T. R.!_
+
+It blew, it rained, it snowed, it stormed, it froze, it hailed, it
+  sleeted
+The day that William Howard Taft upon the chair was seated.
+The four long years that followed--ah, that I should make a rime of it!
+For Mr. Taft assures me that he had an awful time of it.
+And yet meseems he did his best; and as we bid good-bye,
+I'll add he did a better job than you'd have done--or I.
+
+  Welcome to thee! I shake thy hand,
+  New prexy of our well-known land.
+  May what we merit, and no less,
+  Descend to give us happiness!
+  May what we merit, and no more,
+  Descend on us in measured store!
+  Give us but peace when we shall earn
+  The right to such a rich return!
+  Give us but plenty when we show
+  That we deserve to have it so!
+
+Mine ode is finished! Tut! It is a slight one,
+  But blame me not; I do as I am bid.
+The editor of COLLIER'S said to write one--
+                And I did.
+
+
+
+
+What the Copy Desk Might
+Have Done to:
+
+("Annabel Lee")
+
+=SOUL BRIDE ODDLY DEAD
+IN QUEER DEATH PACT=
+
+=High-Born Kinsman Abducts
+Girl from Poet-Lover--Flu
+Said to Be Cause of Death--Grand
+Jury to Probe=
+
+
+Annabel L. Poe, of 1834-1/2 3rd
+Av., the beautiful young fiancee
+of Edmund Allyn Poe, a magazine
+writer from the South, was found
+dead early this morning on the beach
+off E. 8th St.
+
+Poe seemed prostrated and, questioned
+by the police, said that one of her aristocratic
+relatives had taken her to the
+"seashore," but that the cold winds had
+given her "flu," from which she never
+"rallied."
+
+Detectives at work on the case believe,
+they say, that there was a suicide compact
+between the Poes and that Poe
+also intended to do away with himself.
+
+He refused to leave the spot where the
+woman's body had been found.
+
+
+
+
+("Curfew Must Not Ring To-night")
+
+=GIRL, HUMAN BELL-CLAPPER,
+SAVES DOOMED LOVER'S LIFE=
+
+=BRAVE ACT Of "BESSIE" SMITH
+HALTS CURFEW FROM RINGING
+AND MELTS CROMWELL'S
+HEART=
+
+(By Cable to _The Courier_)
+
+
+HUDDERSFIELD, KENT, ENGLAND.--Jan.
+15.--Swinging far out
+above the city, "Bessie" Smith, the
+young and beautiful fiancee of Basil
+Underwood, a prisoner incarcerated in
+the town jail, saved his life to-night.
+
+The woman went to "Jack" Hemingway,
+sexton of the First M. E. Church,
+and asked him to refrain from ringing
+the curfew bell last night, as Underwood's
+execution had been set for the
+hour when the bell was to ring. Hemingway
+refused, alleging it to be his
+duty to ring the bell.
+
+With a quick step Miss Smith bounded
+forward, sprang within the old church
+door, left the old man threading slowly
+paths which previously he had trodden,
+and mounted up to the tower. Climbing
+the dusty ladder in the dark, she is said
+to have whispered:
+
+"Curfew is not to ring this evening."
+
+Seizing the heavy tongue of the bell,
+as it was about to move, she swung far
+out suspended in mid-air, oscillating,
+thus preventing the bell from ringing.
+Hemingway's deafness prevented him
+from hearing the bell ring, but as he
+had been deaf for 20 years, he attributed
+no importance to the silence.
+
+As Miss Smith descended, she met
+Oliver Cromwell, the well-known lord
+protector, who had condemned Underwood
+to death. Hearing her story and
+noting her hands, bruised and torn, he
+said in part: "Go, your lover lives.
+Curfew shall not ring this evening."
+
+
+
+
+("The Ballad of the Tempest")
+
+=TOT'S FEW WORDS
+KEEP 117 SOULS
+FROM DIRE PANIC=
+
+=Babe's Query to Parent Saves Storm-Flayed
+Ship's Passengers Crowded
+in Cabin=
+
+FEARFUL THING IN WINTER
+
+
+BOSTON, MASS, Jan. 17--Cheered
+by the faith of little
+"Jennie" Carpenter, the 7-year-old
+daughter of Capt. B. L. Carpenter,
+of a steamer whose name could not be
+learned, 117 passengers on board were
+brought through panic early this morning
+while the storm was at its height,
+to shore.
+
+George H. Nebich, one of the passengers,
+told the following story to a
+COURIER reporter:
+
+"About midnight we were crowded in
+the cabin, afraid to sleep on account of
+the storm. All were praying, as Capt.
+Carpenter, staggering down the stairs,
+cried: 'We are lost!' It was then that
+little 'Jennie,' his daughter, took him
+by his hand and asked him whether he
+did not believe in divine omnipresence.
+All the passengers kissed the little
+'girlie' whose faith had so inspirited
+us."
+
+The steamer, it was said at the office
+of the company owning her, would leave
+as usual to-night for Portland.
+
+
+
+
+("Plain Language from Truthful James")
+
+=AH SIN, FAMED TONG MAN,
+BESTS BARD AT CARD TILT=
+
+="Celestial" Gambler, Feigning Ignorance
+of Euchre, Tricks Francis
+Bret Harte and "Bill" Nye
+into Heavy Losses--Solons
+to Probe Ochre Peril=
+
+
+SAN FRANCISCO, Aug. 3.--Francis
+B. Harte and E. W. Nye, a pair of local
+magazine writers, lost what is believed
+to be a large sum of money in a game
+of euchre played near the Bar-M mine
+this afternoon.
+
+There had been, Harte alleged, a
+three-handed game of euchre participated
+in by Nye, a Chinaman named Ah
+Sin and himself. The Chinaman, Harte
+asserted, did not understand the game,
+but, Harte declared, smiled as he sat by
+the table with what Harte termed was
+a "smile that was childlike and bland."
+
+Harte said that his feelings were
+shocked by the chicanery of Nye, but
+that the hands held by Ah Sin were
+unusual. Nye, maddened by the Chinaman's
+trickery, rushed at him, 24 packs
+of cards spilling from the tong-man's
+long sleeves. On his taper nails was
+found some wax.
+
+The "Mongolian," Harte said, is peculiar.
+
+Harte and Nye are thought to have
+lost a vast sum of money, as they are
+wealthy authors.
+
+The legislature, it is said, will investigate
+the question of the menace to
+American card-players by the so-called
+Yellow peril.
+
+
+
+
+("Excelsior")
+
+=DOG FINDS LAD
+DEAD IN DRIFT=
+
+=Unidentified Body of Young Traveler
+Found by Faithful Hound Near
+Small Alpine Village--White
+Mantle His Snowy Shroud=
+
+
+ST. BERNARD, Sept. 12.--Early
+this morning a dog belonging to the St.
+Bernard Monastery discovered the body
+of a young man, half buried in the
+snow.
+
+In his hand was clutched a flag with
+the word "Excelsior" printed on it.
+
+It is thought that he passed through
+the village last night, bearing the banner,
+and that a young woman had offered
+him shelter, which he refused,
+having answered "Excelsior."
+
+The police are working on the case.
+
+
+
+
+("The Landing of the Pilgrim Fathers")
+
+=PILGRIM DADS
+LAND ON MASS.
+COAST TOWN=
+
+=Intrepid Band of Britons, Seeking
+Faith's Pure Shrine, Reach
+Rock-Bound Coast, Singing
+Amid Storm=
+
+
+PROVINCETOWN, MASS,
+Dec. 21--Poking her nose
+through the fog, the ship _Mayflower_,
+of Southampton, Jones, Master, limped
+into port to-night.
+
+On board were men with hoary hair
+and women with fearless eyes, 109 in
+all.
+
+Asked why they had made the journey,
+they alleged that religious freedom
+was the goal they sought here.
+
+The _Mayflower_ carried a cargo of antique
+furniture.
+
+Among those on board were William
+Bradford, M. Standish, Jno. Alden,
+Peregrine White, John Carver and
+others.
+
+Steps are being taken to organize a
+society of Mayflower Descendants.
+
+
+
+
+("The Bridge Of Sighs")
+
+=KINLESS YOUNG
+WOMAN, WEARY,
+TAKES OWN LIFE=
+
+=Body of Girl Found in River
+Tells Pitiful Story of
+Homelessness and Lack of
+Charity=
+
+
+LONDON, March 16.--The body of a
+young woman, her garments clinging
+like cerements, was found in the river
+late this afternoon.
+
+In the entire city she had no home.
+There are, according to the police, no
+relatives.
+
+The woman was young and slender
+and had auburn hair.
+
+No cause has been assigned for the
+act.
+
+
+
+
+Song of Synthetic Virility
+
+
+Oh, some may sing of the surging sea, or chant of the raging main;
+Or tell of the taffrail blown away by the raging hurricane.
+With an oh, for the feel of the salt sea spray as it stipples the
+  guffy's cheek!
+And oh, for the sob of the creaking mast and the halyard's aching
+  squeak!
+And some may sing of the galley-foist, and some of the quadrireme,
+And some of the day the xebec came and hit us abaft the beam.
+Oh, some may sing of the girl in Kew that died for a sailor's love,
+And some may sing of the surging sea, as I may have observed above.
+
+Oh, some may long for the Open Road, or crave for the prairie breeze,
+And some, o'ersick of the city's strain, may yearn for the whispering
+  trees.
+With an oh, for the rain to cool my face, and the wind to blow my hair!
+And oh, for the trail to Joyous Garde, where I may find my fair!
+And some may love to lie in the field in the stark and silent night,
+The glistering dew for a coverlet and the moon and stars for light.
+Let others sing of the soughing pines and the winds that rustle and
+  roar,
+And others long for the Open Road, as I may have remarked before.
+
+Ay, some may sing of the bursting bomb and the screech of a screaming
+  shell,
+Or tell the tale of the cruel trench on the other side of hell.
+And some may talk of the ten-mile hike in the dead of a winter night,
+And others chaunt of the doughtie Kyng with mickle valour dight.
+And some may long for the song of a child and the lullaby's fairy charm,
+And others yearn for the crack of the bat and the wind of the
+  pitcher's arm.
+Oh, some have longed for this and that, and others have craved and
+  yearned;
+And they all may sing of whatever they like, as far as I'm concerned.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, NEW YORK
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Transcriber's Notes
+
+
+Original variations in spelling, hyphenation, and punctuation have
+been retained.
+
+Bold text is surrounded by =.
+
+Italic text is surrounded by _.
+
+Page 71: The oe in Croesus was originally printed as a ligature.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's Something Else Again, by Franklin P. Adams
+
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