Something Else Again Part 8

"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 h.e.l.l'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 sh.e.l.l 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 hoa.r.s.e for a couple of days-- You've heard me, I'm positive, joyously cheering "The Ma.r.s.eillaise."

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."