Impertinent Poems Part 12

III.

Perhaps you sometimes deem the Czar A star?

With not a palm in all the land To strike his fairly, hand to hand, With not a man in all the pack To fetch a hand against his back And cry, "Well met, Old Nick, come out And let us trot the kids about.

Tut, man! you needn't look so pale, A red flag means an auction sale."

IV.

I'll bet even Shakespeare's name was "Will,"

Until He was so dead that he was great, For fame can only isolate.

And better than "The Immortal Bard"

Were "h.e.l.lo, Bill," and "Howdy, pard!"

Would he have swapped his comrades' laughter For all the praise of ages after?

A SONG OF REST.

I have sung the song of striving, Of the struggling, of arriving, Of making of one's self a horse and mounting him and driving!

But now, let's cease; Let's look for peace.

Let's forget the mark of money, Let's forget the love of fame.

Life is ours and skies are sunny; What is worry but a name?

Let's sit down and whiff and whittle, Let us loaf and laugh a little.

(Here the youngest spoiled the rime By running to me for a dime.)

I have sung the joy of doing, Of the pleasure of pursuing, And how life is like a woman and our role and rule is wooing, But now, O let Us cease to fret!

Let us cease our vain desiring; Water's better than Cliquot; What is honor but perspiring?

Wealth's another name for woe.

Let us spread out in the clover, Just too lazy to turn over,--

(Here my wife brought in the news: All the children need new shoes.)

I have sung the song of action, Of the sweet of satisfaction Of pounding, pounding, pounding opposition to a fraction, But now, let's quit; Let's rest a bit.

Money only makes us greedy, Life's success is but a taunt.

He alone is never needy Who has learned to laugh at want.

Let us loaf and laugh and wallow; Too much work to even swallow--

(Here's the mail and bills are curses; I must try to sell these verses.)

DESIRE.

Oh, the ripe, red apple which handily hung And flaunted and taunted and swayed and swung, Till it itched your fingers and tickled your tongue, For it was juicy and you were young!

But you held your hands and you turned your head, And you thought of the switch which hung in the shed, And you didn't take it (or so you said), But tell me--didn't you want to?

Oh, the rounded maiden who pa.s.sed you by, Whose cheek was dimpled, whose glance was shy, But who looked at you out of the tail of her eye, And flirted her skirt just a trifle high!

Oh, you were human and not sedate, But you thought of the narrow way and straight, And you didn't follow (or so you state), But tell me--didn't you want to?

Oh, the golden c.h.i.n.k and the sibilant sign Which sang of honey and love and wine, Of pleasure and power when the sun's a-s.h.i.+ne And plenty and peace in the day's decline!

Oh, the dream was schemed and the play was planned; You had nothing to do but to reach your hand, But you didn't (or so I understand), But tell me--didn't you want to?

Oh, you wanted to, yes; and hence you crow That the Want To within you found its foe Which wanted you not to want to, and so You were able to answer always "No."

So you tell yourself you are pretty fine clay To have tricked temptation and turned it away; But wait, my friend, for a different day!

Wait till you want to want to!

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Desire"

_Page 99._]

THERE IS, OH, SO MUCH.

There is oh, so much for a man to be In nineteen hundred and now.

He may cover the world like the searching sea In nineteen hundred and now.

He may be of the rush of the city's roar And his song may sing where the condors soar, Or may dip to the dark of Labrador, In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to do In nineteen hundred and now.

He may sort the suns of Andromeda through In nineteen hundred and now.

Or he may strive, as a good man must, For the wretch at his feet who licks the dust, And never learn how to be even just In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to learn In nineteen hundred and now: The least and the most he should trouble to earn In nineteen hundred and now, The message burned bright on the heavenly scroll, The little he needs that his stomach be whole, The vastness of vision to sate his soul, In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to get In nineteen hundred and now.

He may drench the earth in vicarious sweat In nineteen hundred and now.

And his wealth may be but a lifelong itch, While the lowliest digger within his ditch May have gained the little to make him rich In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much for a man to try In nineteen hundred and now.

The sea is so deep and the hill so high In nineteen hundred and now.

But sometimes we look at our little ball Where the smallest is great and the greatest small And wonder the why and the what of it all In nineteen hundred and now.

There is oh, so much, so we work as we may In nineteen hundred and now, And loiter a little along the way In nineteen hundred and now.

O, the honeybee works, but the honeybee clings To the flowers of life and the honeybee sings!

Let us eat the sweet and forget the stings In nineteen hundred and now!

HOW DID YOU DIE?