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The Wit and Humor of America, Volume V
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Год написания книги
2019
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Is O. Meredith's "Lucile."
Of course she's up on pictures—
Passes for a connoisseur;
On free days at the Institute
You'll always notice her.
She qualifies approval
Of a Titian or Corot,
But—
She throws a fit of rapture
When she comes to Bouguereau.
And when you talk of music,
Why, she's Music's devotee.
She will tell you that Beethoven
Always makes her wish to pray,
And "dear old Bach!" his very name,
She says, her ear enchants;
But—
Her favorite piece is Weber's
"Invitation to the Dance."
HAVE YOU SEEN THE LADY?
By John Philip Sousa
"Have I told you the name of a lady?
Have I told you the name of a dear?
'Twas known long ago,
And ends with an O;
You don't hear it often round here.
Have I talked of the eyes of a lady?
Have I talked of the eyes that are bright?
Their color, you see,
Is B-L-U-E;
They're the gin in the cocktail of light.
Have I sung of the hair of a lady?
Have I sung of the hair of a dove?
What shade do you say?
B-L-A-C-K;
It's the fizz in the champagne of love.
Can you guess it—the name of the lady?
She is sweet, she is fair, she is coy.
Your guessing forego,
It's J-U-N-O;
She's the mint in the julep of joy."
THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW
By James Whitcomb Riley
'Twas a Funny Little Fellow
Of the very purest type,
For he had a heart as mellow
As an apple over-ripe;
And the brightest little twinkle
When a funny thing occurred,
And the lightest little tinkle
Of a laugh you ever heard!
His smile was like the glitter
Of the sun in tropic lands,
And his talk a sweeter twitter
Than the swallow understands;
Hear him sing—and tell a story—
Snap a joke—ignite a pun,—
'Twas a capture—rapture—glory,
And explosion—all in one!
Though he hadn't any money—
That condiment which tends
To make a fellow "honey"
For the palate of his friends;
Sweet simples he compounded—
Sovereign antidotes for sin
Or taint,—a faith unbounded
That his friends were genuine.
He wasn't honored, may be—
For his songs of praise were slim,—
Yet I never knew a baby
That wouldn't crow for him;
I never knew a mother
But urged a kindly claim
Upon him as a brother,
At the mention of his name.
The sick have ceased their sighing,
And have even found the grace
Of a smile when they were dying
As they looked upon his face;
And I've seen his eyes of laughter
Melt in tears that only ran
As though, swift dancing after,
Came the Funny Little Man.
He laughed away the sorrow,
Of course she's up on pictures—
Passes for a connoisseur;
On free days at the Institute
You'll always notice her.
She qualifies approval
Of a Titian or Corot,
But—
She throws a fit of rapture
When she comes to Bouguereau.
And when you talk of music,
Why, she's Music's devotee.
She will tell you that Beethoven
Always makes her wish to pray,
And "dear old Bach!" his very name,
She says, her ear enchants;
But—
Her favorite piece is Weber's
"Invitation to the Dance."
HAVE YOU SEEN THE LADY?
By John Philip Sousa
"Have I told you the name of a lady?
Have I told you the name of a dear?
'Twas known long ago,
And ends with an O;
You don't hear it often round here.
Have I talked of the eyes of a lady?
Have I talked of the eyes that are bright?
Their color, you see,
Is B-L-U-E;
They're the gin in the cocktail of light.
Have I sung of the hair of a lady?
Have I sung of the hair of a dove?
What shade do you say?
B-L-A-C-K;
It's the fizz in the champagne of love.
Can you guess it—the name of the lady?
She is sweet, she is fair, she is coy.
Your guessing forego,
It's J-U-N-O;
She's the mint in the julep of joy."
THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW
By James Whitcomb Riley
'Twas a Funny Little Fellow
Of the very purest type,
For he had a heart as mellow
As an apple over-ripe;
And the brightest little twinkle
When a funny thing occurred,
And the lightest little tinkle
Of a laugh you ever heard!
His smile was like the glitter
Of the sun in tropic lands,
And his talk a sweeter twitter
Than the swallow understands;
Hear him sing—and tell a story—
Snap a joke—ignite a pun,—
'Twas a capture—rapture—glory,
And explosion—all in one!
Though he hadn't any money—
That condiment which tends
To make a fellow "honey"
For the palate of his friends;
Sweet simples he compounded—
Sovereign antidotes for sin
Or taint,—a faith unbounded
That his friends were genuine.
He wasn't honored, may be—
For his songs of praise were slim,—
Yet I never knew a baby
That wouldn't crow for him;
I never knew a mother
But urged a kindly claim
Upon him as a brother,
At the mention of his name.
The sick have ceased their sighing,
And have even found the grace
Of a smile when they were dying
As they looked upon his face;
And I've seen his eyes of laughter
Melt in tears that only ran
As though, swift dancing after,
Came the Funny Little Man.
He laughed away the sorrow,
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