Then Mr. King turn'd to his task again:
Sought a rough araba with bullocks twain;
Haled up the unwilling brutes with might and main,
Laid the poor wounded woman gently down,
And calmly drove her from the rescued town!
And Mr. King, when we heard the story,
Was a little abash'd by the hero's glory;
And, "Look you here, you boys; you may laff
But I ain't the man to start at chaff.
I know without any jaw from you,
'Twas a darned nonsensical thing to do;
But I tell you plain--and I mean it, too--
For all it was such a ridiculous thing,
I should do it again!" said Mr. King.
THE ART OF "POETRY."
FROM "TOWN TOPICS."
I ask not much! but let th' "dank wynd" moan,
"Shimmer th' woold" and "rive the wanton surge;"
I ask not much; grant but an "eery drone,"
Some "wilding frondage" and a "bosky dirge;"
Grant me but these, and add a regal flush
Of "sundered hearts upreared upon a byre;"
Throw in some yearnings and a "darksome hush,"
And--asking nothing more--I'll smite th' lyre.
Yea, I will smite th' falt'ring, quiv'ring strings,
And magazines shall buy my murky stunts;
Too long I've held my hand to honest things,
Too long I've borne rejections and affronts;
Now will I be profound and recondite,
Yea, working all th' symbols and th' "props;"
Now will I write of "morn" and "yesternight;"
Now will I gush great gobs of soulful slops.
Pages:
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48