The Home Book of Verse Volume Iv Part 50

If, of all words of tongue and pen, The saddest are, "It might have been,"

More sad are these we daily see: "It is, but hadn't ought to be."

Bret Harte [1839-1902]

THE MODERN HIAWATHA From "The Song of Milkanwatha"

He killed the n.o.ble Mudjokivis, With the skin he made him mittens, Made them with the fur side inside, Made them with the skin side outside, He, to get the warm side inside, Put the inside skin side outside: He, to get the cold side outside, Put the warm side fur side inside: That's why he put the fur side inside, Why he put the skin side outside, Why he turned them inside outside.

George A. Strong [1832-1912]

HOW OFTEN After Longfellow

They stood on the bridge at midnight, In a park not far from the town; They stood on the bridge at midnight, Because they didn't sit down.

The moon rose o'er the city, Behind the dark church spire; The moon rose o'er the city, And kept on rising higher.

How often, oh! how often They whispered words so soft; How often, oh! how often, How often, oh! how oft.

Ben King [1857-1894]

"IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT"

After Arabella Eugenia Smith

If I should die to-night And you should come to my cold corpse and say, Weeping and heartsick o'er my lifeless clay-- If I should die to-night, And you should come in deepest grief and woe-- And say: "Here's that ten dollars that I owe,"

I might arise in my large white cravat And say, "What's that?"

If I should die to-night And you should come to my cold corpse and, kneel, Clasping my bier to show the grief you feel, I say, if I should die to-night And you should come to me, and there and then Just even hint at paying me that ten, I might arise the while, But I'd drop dead again.

Ben King [1857-1894]

SINCERE FLATTERY Of W. W. (America.n.u.s)

The clear cool note of the cuckoo which has ousted the legitimate nest-holder, The whistle of the railway guard dispatching the train to the inevitable collision, The maiden's monosyllabic reply to a polysyllabic proposal, The fundamental note of the last trump, which is presumably D natural; All of these are sounds to rejoice in, yea, to let your very ribs re-echo with: But better than all of them is the absolutely last chord of the apparently inexhaustible pianoforte player.

James Kenneth Stephen [1859-1892]

CULTURE IN THE SLUMS Inscribed To An Intense Poet

I. RONDEAU "O crikey, Bill!" she ses to me, she ses.

"Look sharp," ses she, "with them there sossiges.

Yea! sharp with them there bags of mysteree!

For lo!" she ses, "for lo! old pal," ses she, "I'm blooming peckish, neither more nor less."

Was it not prime--I leave you all to guess How prime!--to have a Jude in love's distress Come spooning round, and murmuring balmilee, "O crikey, Bill!"

For in such rorty wise doth Love express His blooming views, and asks for your address, And makes it right, and does the gay and free.

I kissed her--I did so! And her and me Was pals. And if that ain't good business, "O crikey, Bill!"

II. VILLANELLE

Now ain't they utterly too-too (She ses, my Missus mine, ses she), Them flymy little bits of Blue.

Joe, just you kool 'em--nice and skew Upon our old meogginee, Now ain't they utterly too-too?

They're better than a pot'n' a screw, They're equal to a Sunday spree, Them flymy little bits of Blue!

Suppose I put 'em up the flue, And booze the profits, Joe? Not me.

Now ain't they utterly too-too?

I do the 'Igh Art fake, I do.

Joe, I'm consummate; and I see Them flymy little bits of Blue.

Which, Joe, is why I ses ter you-- Aesthetic-like, and limp, and free-- Now ain't they utterly too-too, Them flymy little bits of Blue?

William Ernest Henley [1849-1903]

THE POETS AT TEA

I.--(Macaulay) Pour, varlet, pour the water, The water steaming hot!

A spoonful for each man of us, Another for the pot!

We shall not drink from amber, No Capuan slave shall mix For us the snows of Athos With port at thirty-six; Whiter than snow the crystals Grown sweet 'neath tropic fires, More rich the herb of China's field, The pasture-lands more fragrance yield; Forever let Britannia wield The teapot of her sires!

II.--(Tennyson) I think that I am drawing to an end: For on a sudden came a gasp for breath, And stretching of the hands, and blinded eyes, And a, great darkness falling on my soul.

O Hallelujah!... Kindly pa.s.s the milk.

III.--(Swinburne) As the sin that was sweet in the sinning Is foul in the ending thereof, As the heat of the summer's beginning Is past in the winter of love: O purity, painful and pleading!

O coldness, ineffably gray!

O hear us, our handmaid unheeding, And take it away!

IV.--(Cowper) The cosy fire is bright and gay, The merry kettle boils away And hums a cheerful song.

I sing the saucer and the cup; Pray, Mary, fill the teapot up, And do not make it strong.