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Verse and Worse
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A good resolve is always brief;
Don't let your precious hours be spent
In turning over a new leaf.
Such leaves, like Nature's, soon decay,
And then are only in the way.
The Road to – well, a certain spot
(A road of very fair dimensions),
Has, so the proverb tells us, got
A parquet-floor of Good Intentions.
Take care, in your desire to please,
You do not add a brick to these.
For there may come a moment when
You shall be mended, willy-nilly,
With many more misguided men,
Whose skill is undermined with skilly.
Till then procrastinate, my friend;
'It Never is Too Late to Mend!'
VII
'A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS'
This pen of mine is simply grand,
I never loved a pen so much;
This paper (underneath my hand)
Is really a delight to touch;
And never in my life, I think,
Did I make use of finer ink.
The subject upon which I write
Is ev'rything that I could choose;
I seldom knew my wits more bright,
More cosmopolitan my views;
Nor ever did my head contain
So surplus a supply of brain!
VIII
'DON'T LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH'
I knew a man who lived down South;
He thought this maxim to defy;
He looked a Gift-horse in the Mouth;
The Gift-horse bit him in the Eye!
And, while the steed enjoyed his bite,
My Southern friend mislaid his sight.
Now, had this foolish man, that day,
Observed the Gift-horse in the Heel,
It might have kicked his brains away,
But that's a loss he would not feel;
Because, you see (need I explain?),
My Southern friend has got no brain.
When any one to you presents
A poodle, or a pocket-knife,
A set of Ping-pong instruments,
A banjo or a lady-wife,
'Tis churlish, as I understand,
To grumble that they're second-hand.
And he who termed Ingratitude
As 'worser nor a servant's tooth'
Was evidently well imbued
With all the elements of Truth;
(While he who said 'Uneasy lies
The tooth that wears a crown' was wise).
'One must be poor,' George Eliot said,
'To know the luxury of giving';
So too one really should be dead
To realise the joy of living.
(I'd sooner be – I don't know which —
I'd like to be alive and rich!)
This book may be a Gift-horse too,
And one you surely ought to prize;
If so, I beg you, read it through,
With kindly and uncaptious eyes,
Not grumbling because this particular line doesn't happen to scan,
And this one doesn't rhyme!
IX
POTPOURRI
There are many more Maxims to which
I would like to accord a front place,
But alas! I have got
To omit a whole lot,
For the lack of available space;
And the rest I am forced to boil down and condense
To the following Essence of Sound without Sense:
Now the Pitcher that journeys too oft
To the Well will get broken at last.
But you'll find it a fact
That, by using some tact,
Don't let your precious hours be spent
In turning over a new leaf.
Such leaves, like Nature's, soon decay,
And then are only in the way.
The Road to – well, a certain spot
(A road of very fair dimensions),
Has, so the proverb tells us, got
A parquet-floor of Good Intentions.
Take care, in your desire to please,
You do not add a brick to these.
For there may come a moment when
You shall be mended, willy-nilly,
With many more misguided men,
Whose skill is undermined with skilly.
Till then procrastinate, my friend;
'It Never is Too Late to Mend!'
VII
'A BAD WORKMAN COMPLAINS OF HIS TOOLS'
This pen of mine is simply grand,
I never loved a pen so much;
This paper (underneath my hand)
Is really a delight to touch;
And never in my life, I think,
Did I make use of finer ink.
The subject upon which I write
Is ev'rything that I could choose;
I seldom knew my wits more bright,
More cosmopolitan my views;
Nor ever did my head contain
So surplus a supply of brain!
VIII
'DON'T LOOK A GIFT-HORSE IN THE MOUTH'
I knew a man who lived down South;
He thought this maxim to defy;
He looked a Gift-horse in the Mouth;
The Gift-horse bit him in the Eye!
And, while the steed enjoyed his bite,
My Southern friend mislaid his sight.
Now, had this foolish man, that day,
Observed the Gift-horse in the Heel,
It might have kicked his brains away,
But that's a loss he would not feel;
Because, you see (need I explain?),
My Southern friend has got no brain.
When any one to you presents
A poodle, or a pocket-knife,
A set of Ping-pong instruments,
A banjo or a lady-wife,
'Tis churlish, as I understand,
To grumble that they're second-hand.
And he who termed Ingratitude
As 'worser nor a servant's tooth'
Was evidently well imbued
With all the elements of Truth;
(While he who said 'Uneasy lies
The tooth that wears a crown' was wise).
'One must be poor,' George Eliot said,
'To know the luxury of giving';
So too one really should be dead
To realise the joy of living.
(I'd sooner be – I don't know which —
I'd like to be alive and rich!)
This book may be a Gift-horse too,
And one you surely ought to prize;
If so, I beg you, read it through,
With kindly and uncaptious eyes,
Not grumbling because this particular line doesn't happen to scan,
And this one doesn't rhyme!
IX
POTPOURRI
There are many more Maxims to which
I would like to accord a front place,
But alas! I have got
To omit a whole lot,
For the lack of available space;
And the rest I am forced to boil down and condense
To the following Essence of Sound without Sense:
Now the Pitcher that journeys too oft
To the Well will get broken at last.
But you'll find it a fact
That, by using some tact,
Другие электронные книги автора Harry Graham
Последний отзыв
Книгу прочитать не могу, везде ЛитРес свой нос сунул, как и где скачать полную версию бесплатно!?!?