Spats

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1. When Ida Puts Her Armor On The Cowboy had a sterling heart, The Maiden was from Boston, The Rancher saw his wealth depart- The Steers were what he lost on. The Villain was a banker’s limb, His spats and cane were nifty; The Maiden needs must marry him- Her father was not thrifty. The Sheepmen were as foul as pitch, The […]...
2. Finery In an elegant frock, trimm’d with beautiful lace, And hair nicely curl’d, hanging over her face, Young Fanny went out to the house of a friend, With a large little party the evening to spend. “Ah! how they will all be delighted, I guess, And stare with surprise at my handsome new dress!” Thus said […]...
3. The Sightseers My father and mother, my brother and sister And I, with uncle Pat, our dour best-loved uncle, Had set out that Sunday afternoon in July In his broken-down Ford Not to visit some graveyard-one died of shingles, One of fever, another’s knees turned to jelly- But the brand-new roundabout at Ballygawley, The first in mid-Ulster. […]...
4. Uncle Harry Oh, never let on to your own true love That ever you drank a drop; That ever you played in a two-up school Or slept in a sly-grog shop; That ever a bad girl nursed you round – That ever you sank so low. But she pulled you through, and it’s only you And your […]...
5. John Anderson John Anderson, my jo John, When we were first acquent Your locks were like the raven, Your bonnie brow was brent; But now your brow is bald, John, Your locks are like the snow; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson my jo! John Anderson, my jo John, We clamb the hill thegither, And […]...
6. 271. Song-John Anderson, My Jo JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John, When we were first acquent; Your locks were like the raven, Your bonie brow was brent; But now your brow is beld, John, Your locks are like the snaw; But blessings on your frosty pow, John Anderson, my jo. John Anderson, my jo, John, We clamb the hill thegither; And […]...
7. The Jubilee Sov'reign On Jubilee Day the Ramsbottoms Invited relations to tea, Including young Albert’s grandmother – An awkward old. . party, was she. She’d seen Queen Victoria’s accession And ‘er wedding to Albert (the Good) But she got quite upset when young Albert Asked ‘er ‘ow she’d got on in the Flood. She cast quite a damper […]...
8. The Twins There were two brothers, John and James, And when the town went up in flames, To save the house of James dashed John, Then turned, and lo! his own was gone. And when the great World War began, To volunteer John promptly ran; And while he learned live bombs to lob, James stayed at home […]...
9. The Ballad Of A Bachelor Listen, ladies, while I sing The ballad of John Henry King. John Henry was a bachelor, His age was thirty-three or four. Two maids for his affection vied, And each desired to be his bride, And bravely did they strive to bring Unto their feet John Henry King. John Henry liked them both so well, […]...
10. Sympathy My Muse is simple, yet it’s nice To think you don’t need to think twice On words I write. I reckon I’ve a common touch And if you say I cuss too much I answer: ‘Quite!’ I envy not the poet’s lot; He has something I haven’t got, Alas, I know. But I have something […]...
11. The Ballad Of Father O'Hart Good Father John O’Hart In penal days rode out To a Shoneen who had free lands And his own snipe and trout. In trust took he John’s lands; Sleiveens were all his race; And he gave them as dowers to his daughters. And they married beyond their place. But Father John went up, And Father […]...
12. Hildrup Tubbs I made two fights for the people. First I left my party, bearing the gonfalon Of independence, for reform, and was defeated. Next I used my rebel strength To capture the standard of my old party And I captured it, but I was defeated. Discredited and discarded, misanthropical, I turned to the solace of gold […]...
13. Song of Myself I was a Poet! But I did not know it, Neither did my Mother, Nor my Sister nor my Brother. The Rich were not aware of it; The Poor took no care of it. The Reverend Mr. Drewitt Never knew it. The High did not suspect it; The Low could not detect it. Aunt Sue […]...
14. Tonight I Can Write Tonight I can write the saddest lines. Write, for example, ‘The night is starry And the stars are blue and shiver in the distance.’ The night wind revolves in the sky and sings. Tonight I can write the saddest lines. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. Through nights like this one I […]...
15. Christ Crucified THY restless feet now cannot go For us and our eternal good, As they were ever wont. What though They swim, alas! in their own flood? Thy hands to give Thou canst not lift, Yet will Thy hand still giving be; It gives, but O, itself’s the gift! It gives tho’ bound, tho’ bound ’tis […]...
16. MACTAVISH I do not write for love of pelf, Nor lust for phantom fame; I do not rhyme to please myself, Nor yet to win acclaim: No, strange to say it is my plan, What gifts I have, to lavish Upon a simple working man MACTAVISH. For that’s the rather smeary name, Of dreary toil a […]...
17. Saddest Poem I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. Write, for instance: “The night is full of stars, And the stars, blue, shiver in the distance.” The night wind whirls in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. I loved her, and sometimes she loved me too. On nights […]...
18. Burning the Doll I am the girl who burned her doll, Who gave her father the doll to burn ” The bride doll I had been given At six, as a Christmas gift, By the same great uncle who once introduced me At my blind second cousin’s wedding To a man who winced, A future Miss America, I’m […]...
19. Dreamers Soldiers are citizens of death’s gray land, Drawing no dividend from time’s to-morrows. In the great hour of destiny they stand, Each with his feuds, and jealousies, and sorrows. Soldiers are sworn to action; they must win Some flaming, fatal climax with their lives. Soldiers are dreamers; when the guns begin They think of firelit […]...
20. No, Thank You John I never said I loved you, John: Why will you tease me day by day, And wax a weariness to think upon With always “do” and “pray”? You Know I never loved you, John; No fault of mine made me your toast: Why will you haunt me with a face as wan As shows an […]...
21. Prelude How could I love you more? I would give up Even that beauty I have loved too well That I might love you better. Alas, how poor the gifts that lovers give I can but give you of my flesh and strength, I can but give you these few passing days And passionate words that, […]...
22. Accepted You are no longer young, Nor are you very old. There are homes where those belong. You know you do not fit When you observe the cold Stares of those who sit In bath-chairs or the park (A stick, then, at their side) Or find yourself in the dark And see the lovers who, In […]...
23. While we were fearing it, it came While we were fearing it, it came But came with less of fear Because that fearing it so long Had almost made it fair There is a Fitting a Dismay A Fitting a Despair ‘Tis harder knowing it is Due Than knowing it is Here. They Trying on the Utmost The Morning it is new […]...
24. Refuge TWILIGHT, a timid fawn, went glimmering by, And Night, the dark-blue hunter, followed fast, Ceaseless pursuit and flight were in the sky, But the long chase had ceased for us at last. We watched together while the driven fawn Hid in the golden thicket of the day. We, from whose hearts pursuit and flight were […]...
25. My Rival I go to concert, party, ball What profit is in these? I sit alone against the wall And strive to look at ease. The incense that is mine by right They burn before her shrine; And that’s because I’m seventeen And She is forty-nine. I cannot check my girlish blush, My color comes and goes; […]...
26. Uncle Bill My Uncle Bill! My Uncle Bill! How doth my heart with anguish thrill! For he, our chief, our Robin Hood, Has gone to jail for stealing wood! With tears and sobs my voice I raise To celebrate my uncle’s praise; With all my strength, with all my skill, I’ll sing the song of Uncle Bill.” […]...
27. Missing Has anybody seen my mouse? I opened his box for half a minute, Just to make sure he was really in it, And while I was looking, he jumped outside! I tried to catch him, I tried, I tried…. I think he’s somewhere about the house. Has anyone seen my mouse? Uncle John, have you […]...
28. Child Lover Drunk or sober Uncle Jim Played the boy; Never glum or sour or grim, Oozin’ joy. Most folks thought he was no good, Blamin’ him; But where kiddies were, you could Bank on Jim. Sure he allus hated work, Lovin’ play. “Jest a good fer nuthin’ jerk,” Lots would say. Yet how the children fell […]...
29. A Verseman's Apology Alas! I am only a rhymer, I don’t know the meaning of Art; But I learned in my little school primer To love Eugene Field and Bret Harte. I hailed Hoosier Ryley with pleasure, To John Hay I took off my hat; These fellows were right to my measure, And I’ve never gone higher than […]...
30. Sandpipers Sandland where the salt water kills the sweet potatoes. Homes for sandpipers-the script of their feet is on the sea shingles-they write in the morning, it is gone at noon-they write at noon, it is gone at night. Pity the land, the sea, the ten mile flats, pity anything but the sandpiper’s wire legs and […]...
31. The Mad Yak I am watching them churn the last milk they’ll ever get From me. They are waiting for me to die; They want to make buttons out of my bones. Where are my sisters and brothers? That tall monk there, loading my uncle, he has a new cap. And that idiot student of his I never […]...
32. That Sweet Flute John Clare That sweet flute John Clare; That broken branch Eddy Whitman; Christopher Smart, in the press of blazing electricity; My uncle the suicide; Woolf, on her way to the river; Wolf, of the sorrowful songs; Swift, impenetrable mask of Dublin; Schumann, climbing the bridge, leaping into the Rhine; Ruskin, Cowper; Poe, rambling in the gloom-bins of […]...
33. Alone The abode of the nightingale is bare, Flowered frost congeals in the gelid air, The fox howls from his frozen lair: Alas, my loved one is gone, I am alone: It is winter. Once the pink cast a winy smell, The wild bee hung in the hyacinth bell, Light in effulgence of beauty fell: I […]...
34. Winding Wool She’d bring to me a skein of wool And beg me to hold out my hands; So on my pipe I cease to pull And watch her twine the shining strands Into a ball so snug and neat, Perchance a pair of socks to knit To comfort my unworthy feet, Or pullover my girth to […]...
35. TO WILLIAM E. CHANNING The pages of thy book I read, And as I closed each one, My heart, responding, ever said, “Servant of God! well done!” Well done! Thy words are great and bold; At times they seem to me, Like Luther’s, in the days of old, Half-battles for the free. Go on, until this land revokes The […]...
36. Concerning The Synthetic Unity Of Apperception “Trash, trash!” the king my uncle said, “The spirit’s smoke and weak as smoke ascends. “Sit in the sun and not among the dead, “Eat oranges! Pish tosh! the car attends. “All ghosts came back. they do not like it there, “No silky water and no big brown bear, “No beer and no siestas up […]...
37. After the parties let’s all go to the party friends Where left over bottles and stale fag-ends Are proudly on offer from the last time round And our hosts believe by a ritual sound Fine spirits will flow and new cellophane wrappers Will tingle the fingers of eligible clappers Let’s all ignite at the party friends And burn […]...
38. The Widow's Party “Where have you been this while away, Johnnie, Johnnie?” ‘Long with the rest on a picnic lay, Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha! They called us out of the barrack-yard To Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard, And you can’t refuse when you get the card, And the Widow gives the party. (Bugle: Ta rara ra-ra-rara!) “What […]...
39. Anna Comnena In the prologue to her Alexiad, Anna Comnena laments her widowhood. Her soul is dizzy. “And with rivers Of tears,” she tells us “I wet My eyes… Alas for the waves” in her life, “alas for the revolts.” Pain burns her “to the the bones and the marrow and the cleaving of the soul.” But […]...
40. Retired Shopman He had the grocer’s counter-stoop, That little man so grey and neat; His moustache had a doleful droop, He hailed me in the slushy street. “I’ve sold my shop,” he said to me, Cupping his hand behind his ear. “My deafness got so bad, you see, Folks had to shout to make me hear.” He […]...