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A line-o'-verse or two
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Her rose-soul slumbers through the tranquil years.
Till then the thorns of maiden doubts and fears.
Within, without, a silence grave, intense.
Her rose-soul slumbers through the tranquil years
In the great hall of Castle Innocence.
“FAREWELL!”
(Evoked by Calverley’s “Forever.”)
“Farewell!” Another gloomy word
As ever into language crept.
’Tis often written, never heard
Except
In playhouse. Ere the hero flits
(In handcuffs) from our pitying view,
“Farewell!” he murmurs, then exits
R. U.
“Farewell!” is much too sighful for
An age that has not time to sigh.
We say, “I’ll see you later,” or
“Good-bye!”
“Fare well” meant long ago, before
It crept tear-spattered into song,
“Safe voyage!” “Pleasant journey!” or
“So long!”
But gone its cheery, old-time ring:
The poets made it rime with knell.
Joined, it became a dismal thing —
“Farewell!”
“Farewell!” Into the lover’s soul
You see fate plunge the cruel iron.
All poets use it. It’s the whole
Of Byron.
“I only feel – farewell!” said he;
And always tearful was the telling.
Lord Byron was eternally
Farewelling.
“Farewell!” A dismal word, ’tis true.
(And why not tell the truth about it?)
But what on earth would poets do
Without it!
REFORM IN OUR TOWN
There was a man in Our Town
And Jimson was his name,
Who cried, “Our civic government
Is honeycombed with shame.”
He called us neighbors in and said,
“By Graft we’re overrun.
Let’s have a general cleaning up,
As other towns have done.”
The citizens of Our Town
Responded to the call;
Beneath the banner of Reform
We gathered one and all.
We sent away for men expert
In hunting civic sin,
To ask these practised gentlemen
Just how we should begin.
The experts came to Our Town
And told us how ’twas done.
“Begin with Gas and Traction,
And half your fight is won.
Begin with Gas and Traction;
The rest will follow soon.”
We looked at one another
And hummed a different tune.
Said Smith, “Saloons in Our Town
Are palaces of shame.”
Said Jones, “Police corruption
Has hurt the town’s fair name.”
Said Brown, “Our lawless children
Pitch pennies as they please.”
Now would it not be wiser
To start Reform with these?
The men who came to Our Town
Replied, “No haste with these;
Begin with Gas – or Water —
The roots of the disease.”
We looked at one another
And hemmed and hawed a bit;
Enthusiasm faded then
From every single cit.
The men who came to Our Town
Expressed a mild surprise,
Till then the thorns of maiden doubts and fears.
Within, without, a silence grave, intense.
Her rose-soul slumbers through the tranquil years
In the great hall of Castle Innocence.
“FAREWELL!”
(Evoked by Calverley’s “Forever.”)
“Farewell!” Another gloomy word
As ever into language crept.
’Tis often written, never heard
Except
In playhouse. Ere the hero flits
(In handcuffs) from our pitying view,
“Farewell!” he murmurs, then exits
R. U.
“Farewell!” is much too sighful for
An age that has not time to sigh.
We say, “I’ll see you later,” or
“Good-bye!”
“Fare well” meant long ago, before
It crept tear-spattered into song,
“Safe voyage!” “Pleasant journey!” or
“So long!”
But gone its cheery, old-time ring:
The poets made it rime with knell.
Joined, it became a dismal thing —
“Farewell!”
“Farewell!” Into the lover’s soul
You see fate plunge the cruel iron.
All poets use it. It’s the whole
Of Byron.
“I only feel – farewell!” said he;
And always tearful was the telling.
Lord Byron was eternally
Farewelling.
“Farewell!” A dismal word, ’tis true.
(And why not tell the truth about it?)
But what on earth would poets do
Without it!
REFORM IN OUR TOWN
There was a man in Our Town
And Jimson was his name,
Who cried, “Our civic government
Is honeycombed with shame.”
He called us neighbors in and said,
“By Graft we’re overrun.
Let’s have a general cleaning up,
As other towns have done.”
The citizens of Our Town
Responded to the call;
Beneath the banner of Reform
We gathered one and all.
We sent away for men expert
In hunting civic sin,
To ask these practised gentlemen
Just how we should begin.
The experts came to Our Town
And told us how ’twas done.
“Begin with Gas and Traction,
And half your fight is won.
Begin with Gas and Traction;
The rest will follow soon.”
We looked at one another
And hummed a different tune.
Said Smith, “Saloons in Our Town
Are palaces of shame.”
Said Jones, “Police corruption
Has hurt the town’s fair name.”
Said Brown, “Our lawless children
Pitch pennies as they please.”
Now would it not be wiser
To start Reform with these?
The men who came to Our Town
Replied, “No haste with these;
Begin with Gas – or Water —
The roots of the disease.”
We looked at one another
And hemmed and hawed a bit;
Enthusiasm faded then
From every single cit.
The men who came to Our Town
Expressed a mild surprise,
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