THE ROCKING HORSE BY CHRISTOPHER MORLEY "They swayed about upon a rocking horse, And thought it Pegasus." JOHN KEATS B NEW YORK GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY COPYRIGHT, 1919, BY GEORGE H. DOHAN COMPANY PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO TOM DALY ACKNOWLEDGMENT I thank the following for permission to reprint these verses: Philadelphia Evening Public Ledger, New York Times, New York Sun, New York Even- ing Sun, House and Garden, The Bookman, Life, The Smart Set, Collier s, The Century, and The Ladies Home Journal. Philadelphia C. M. January, 1919. Vll- CONTENTS PAGE A GRACE BEFORE WRITING . xiii IN THE CITY THE TRYST ..... .... 17 FROM AN OFFICE WINDOW 19 THE FAT LITTLE PURSE 20 THE REFLECTION 22 To A POST-OFFICE INKWELL 23 THE BALLOON PEDDLER 24 THE TELEPHONE DIRECTORY 25 THE ICE WAGON 27 AT A MOVIE THEATRE 30 SONNETS IN A LODGING HOUSE 32 Do You EVER FEEL LIKE GOD? 34 THE MAN WITH THE HOE (PRESS) 36 GREEN ESCAPE 37 VESPER SONG FOR COMMUTERS 39 AT HOME THE SECRET 43 DEDICATION FOR A FIREPLACE 44 ON NAMING A HOUSE " 45 REFUSING You IMMORTALITY 46 LINES FOR AN ECCENTRIC S BOOK-PLATE 47 THE CRIB ...... . : * 48 THE POET 50 To A DISCARDED MIRROR 51 To A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN 52 FOR A BIRTHDAY 54 ix CONTENTS _ ; PAGE SMELLS 55 SMELLS (JUNIOR) 56 MY FAVORITE FLOWERS 57 THE PLUMPUPPETS 58 DANDY DANDELION 60 THE OLD TROUSERS 61 GROWING UP 63 KISSING 64 SONG FOR A LITTLE HOUSE 65 LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT 66 AT A CHILD S BEDSIDE 68 PARADISE DEPRECATED 69 A HOLLOWE EN MEMORY 70 No ANSWER EXPECTED 71 AUTUMN COLOURS 72 THE LAST CRICKET 73 CHRISTMAS EVE 74 MEMORIES LUSITANIA 77 THE BIRTHDAY REVIEW 78 MOONLIGHT 81 READING TERMINAL 82 AT A NEWSPAPER BULLETIN BOARD 84 THE ENGINEER 86 THE ISLAND 88 THE TREES 90 THE TRUCE 91 RUBBER HEELS REQUIEM, ON DISCARDING AN OLD SUIT 95 THE NIGHT BEFORE PAY-DAY 97 AN ECSTATIC TRIBUTE 98 EPITAPH ON THE PROOFREADER OF THE ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITAN- NICA . x CONTENTS PAGB JOHN J. HARRISON 100 BALLADE OF DROWSINESS 102 THANKSGIVING FOR HAVING OVERSLEPT 104 BALLADE OF GETTING ONE S FEET WET . . 105 LINES ON THE CONSECRATION OF A NEW SMOKING CAB . . 107 THE ORPHAN POEM 108 GRACE BEFORE HOT WEATHER 110 KITH AND KIN Ill TEN LITTLE COCKTAILS 112 W T HEN SHAKESPEARE LAUGHED ......... 113 To LUATH 114 BALLADE OF AN AMBROSIAL EVENING 116 THOUGHTS ON REACHING LAND 118 A SYMPOSIUM 120 A BASEMENT LOVE SONG 122 A HYMN OF HATE FOR HAY FEVER 123 v A FREUDIAN LULLABY 124 SYNTHETIC POEMS 125 ABDICATION 127 STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION .... 128 -XI- A GRACE BEFORE WRITING This is a sacrament, I think! Holding the bottle toward the light, As blue as lupin gleams the ink: May Truth be with me as I write ! That small dark cistern may afford Reunion with some vanished friend, And with this ink I have just poured May none but honest words be penned! Xlll THE ROCKING HORSE rf THE TRYST ACCORDING to tradition The place where sweethearts meet Is meadowland and hillside, And not the city street. Love lingers when you say it By lake and moonlight glow: The poets all O. K. it- It may be better so ! And yet I keep my trysting In the department stores : I always wait for Emma At the revolving doors. It might dismay the poets, And yet it s wholly true My heart leaps when I know it s My Emma, pushing through! It may be more romantic By brook or waterfall, 17 THE ROCKING HORSE THE TRYST (continued) Yet better meet on pavements Than never meet at all: I want no moon beguiling, No dark and bouldered shore, When I see Emma smiling And twirling through the door! 18 IN THE CITY FROM AN OFFICE WINDOW (Madison Square, New York City) WHO knows the heart s most secret aisle Where Beauty her strange message brings? She turns our eyes from desk and file To gaze on new- revealed things. In unsuspected place and time Her mystic profile shakes and thrills; The humblest hear her great bells chime Grey streets are lit with daffodils! Who knows what sudden bliss and awe, W T hat comfort, and what courage new, Some typist gained when first she saw Diana, poised against the blue! 19 THE ROCKING HORSE THE FAT LITTLE PURSE ON Saturdays, after the baby Is bathed, fed, and sleeping serene, His mother, as quickly as may be, Arranges the household routine. She rapidly makes herself pretty And leaves the young limb with his nurse. Then gaily she starts for the city, And with her the fat little purse. She trips through the crowd at the station, To the rendezvous spot where we meet, And keeping her eyes from temptation, She avoids the most windowy street ! She is off for the Weekly Adventure; To her comrade for better and worse She says, "Never mind, when you ve spent your Last bit, here s the fat little purse." Apart, in her thrifty exchequer, She has hidden what must not be spent: Enough for the butcher and baker, Katie s wages, and milkman, and rent ; 20 IN THE CITY THE FAT LITTLE PURSE (continued) But the rest of her brave little treasure She is gleeful and prompt to disburse What a richness of innocent pleasure Can come from her fat little purse ! But either by giving or buying, The little purse does not stay fat Perhaps it s a ragged child crying, Perhaps it s a "pert little hat." And the bonny brown eyes that were brightened By pleasures so quaint and diverse, Look up at me, wistful and frightened, To see such a thin little purse. The wisest of all financiering Is that which is done by our wives : By some little known profiteering They add twos and twos and make fives; And, husband, if you would be learning The secret of thrift, it is terse: Invest the great part of your earning! In her little, fat little purse. 21 THE ROCKING HORSE THE REFLECTION 1HAVE not heard her voice, nor seen her face, Nor touched her hand; And yet some echo of her woman s grace I understand. I have no picture of her lovelihood, Her smile, her tint; But that she is both beautiful and good I have true hint. In all that my friend thinks and says, I see " Her mirror true; His thought of her is gentle; she must be All gentle too. In all his grief or laughter, work or play, Each mood and whim, How brave and tender, day by common day, She speaks through him! <* Therefore I say I know her, be her face Or dark or fair For when he shows his heart s most secret place I see her there! 22 IN THE CITY TO A POST-OFFICE INKWELL HOW many humble hearts have dipped In you, and scrawled their manuscript! Have shared their secrets, told their cares, Their curious and quaint affairs! Your pool of ink, your scratchy pen, Have moved the lives of unborn men, And watched young people, breathing hard, Put Heaven on a postal card. 23 - THE ROCKING HORSE THE BALLOON PEDDLER WHO is the man on Chestnut street With coloured toy balloons? I see him with his airy freight On sunny afternoons A peddler of such lovely goods ! The heart leaps to behold His mass of bubbles, red and green And blue and pink and gold. For sure that noble peddler man Hath antic merchandise: His toys that float and swim in air Attract my eager eyes. Perhaps he is a changeling prince Bewitched through magic moons To tempt us solemn busy folk With meaningless balloons. Beware, oh, valiant merchantman, Tread cautious on the pave! Lest some day come some realist, Some haggard soul and grave, A puritan efficientist Who deems thy toys a sin He ll stalk thee madly from behind And prick them with a pin ! -24 IN THE CITY THE TELEPHONE DIRECTORY NO MALORY of old romance, No Crusoe tale, it seems to me, Can equal in rich circumstance This telephone directory. No ballad of fair ladies eyes, No legend of proud knights and dames, Can fill me with such bright surmis As this great book of numbered names ! How many hearts and lives unknown, Rare damsels pining for a squire, Are waiting for the telephone To ring, and call them to the wire. Some wait to hear a loved voice say The news they will rejoice to know At Rome 2637 J Or Marathon 1450! And some, perhaps, are stung with fear And answer with reluctant tread: The message they expect to hear Means life or death or daily bread. 25 THE ROCKING HORSE THE TELEPHONE DIRECTORY (continued) A million hearts here wait our call, All naked to our distant speech > I wish that I could ring them all And have some welcome news for each ! 26 IN THE CITY THE ICE WAGON I D like to split the sky that roofs us down, Break through the crystal lid of upper air, And tap the cool still reservoirs of heaven. I d empty all those unseen lakes of freshness Down some vast funnel, through our stifled streets. I d like to pump away the grit, the dust, Raw dazzle of the sun on garbage piles, The droning troops of flies, sharp bitter smells, And gush that bright sweet flood of unused air Down every alley where the children gasp. And then I d take a fleet of ice wagons Big yellow creaking carts, drawn by wet horses, And drive them rumbling through the blazing slums. In every wagon would be blocks of coldness, Pale, gleaming cubes of ice, all green and silver, With inner veins and patterns, white and frosty; Great lumps of chill would drip and steam and shimmer, And spark like rainbows in their little fractures. And where my wagons stood there would be puddles, A wetness and a sparkle and a coolness. 27 THE ROCKING HORSE THE ICE WAGON (continued) My friends and I would chop and splinter open The blocks of ice. Bare feet would soon come pat tering, And some would wrap it up in Sunday papers, And some would stagger home with it in baskets, And some would be too gay for aught but sucking, Licking, crunching those fast melting pebbles, Gulping as they slipped down unexpected Laughing to perceive that secret numbness Amid their small hot persons! At every stop would be at least one urchin Would take a piece to cool the sweating horses And hold it up against their silky noses And they would start, and then decide they liked it. Down all the sun-cursed byways of the town Our wagons would be trailed by grimy tots, Their ragged shirts half off them with excitement! Dabbling toes and fingers in our leakage, A lucky few up sitting with the driver, All clambering and stretching grey-pink palms. And by the time the wagons were all empty Our arms and shoulders would be lame with chopping, Our backs and thighs pain-shot, our fingers frozen. But how we would recall those eager faces, Red thirsty tongues with ice-chips sliding on them, 28 IN THE CITY THE ICE WAGON (continued) The pinched white cheeks, and their pathetic glad ness. Then we would know that arms were made for ach ing I wish to God that I could go to-morrow! 29 THE ROCKING HORSE AT A MOVIE THEATRE HOW well he spoke who coined the phrase The picture palace! Aye, in sooth A palace, where men s weary days Are crowned with kingliness of youth. Strange palace! Crowded, airless, dim, Where toes are trod and strained eyes smart, We watch a wand of brightness limn The old heroics of the heart. Romance again hath us in thrall And Love is sweet and always true, And in the darkness of the hall Hands clasp as they were meant to do. Remote from peevish joys and ills Our souls, pro tern, are purged and free: We see the sun on western hills, The crumbling tumult of the sea. We are the blond that maidens crave, Well balanced at a dozen banks; By sleight of hand we haste to save A brown-eyed life, nor stay for thanks ! 30 IN THE CITY AT A MOVIE THEATRE (continued) Alas, perhaps our instinct feels Life is not all it might have been, So we applaud fantastic reels Of shadow, cast upon a screen! 31 THE ROCKING HORSE SONNETS IN A LODGING HOUSE EACH morn she crackles upward, tread by tread, All apprehensive of some hideous sight: Perhaps the Fourth Floor Back, who reads in bed, Forgot his gas and let it burn all night The Sweet Young Thing who has the middle room, She much suspects : for once some ink was spilled, And then the plumber, in an hour of gloom, Found all the bathroom pipes with tea-leaves filled. No League of Nations scheme can make her gay She knows the rank duplicity of man; Some folks expect clean towels every day, They ll get away with murder if they can! She tacks a card (alas, few roomers mind it) Pleat e leave the tub as you would wish to find it! 32 IN THE CITY SONNETS IN A LODGING HOUSE (continued) Men lodgers are the best, the Mrs. said: They don t use my gas jets to fry sardines, They don t leave red-hot irons on the spread, They re out all morning, when a body cleans. A man ain t so secretive, never cares What kind of private papers he leaves lay, So I can get a line on his affairs And dope out whether he is likely pay. But women! Say, they surely get my bug! They stop their keyholes up with chewing gum, Spill grease, and hide the damage with the rug, And fry marshmallows when their callers come. They always are behindhand with their rents Take my advice and let your rooms to gents! 33 THE ROCKING HORSE DO YOU EVER FEEL LIKE GOD? ACROSS the court there rises the back wall Of the Magna Carta Apartments. The other evening the people in the apartment op posite Had forgotten to draw their curtains. I could see them dining: the well-blanched cloth, The silver and glass, the crystal water jug, The meat and vegetables ; and their clean pink hands Outstretched in busy gesture. It was pleasant to watch them, they were so human ; So gay, innocent, unconscious of scrutiny. They were four: an elderly couple, A young man, and a girl with lovely shoulders Mellow in the glow of the lamp. They were sitting over coffee, and I could see their hands talking. At last the older two left the room. The boy and girl looked at each other. . . . Like a flash, they leaned and kissed. Good old human race that keeps on multiplying! A little later I went down the street to the movies, 34 IN THE CITY DO YOU EVER FEEL LIKE GOD ? (continued) An3 there I saw all four, laughing and joking to gether. And as I watched them I felt like God = Benevolent, all-knowing, and tender. 35 THE ROCKING HORSE THE MAN WITH THE HOE (PRESS) ABOUT these roaring cylinders Where leaping words and paper mate, A sudden glory moves and stirs An inky cataract in spate! What voice for falsehood or for truth, What hearts attentive to be stirred How dimly understood, in sooth, The power of the printed word! These flashing webs and cogs of steel Have shaken empires, routed kings, Yet never turn too fast to feel The tragedies of humble things. O words, be strict in honesty, Be just and simple and serene; O rhymes, sing true, or you will be Unworthy of this great machine! 36 IN THE CITY GREEN ESCAPE AT three o clock in the afternoon On a hot September day, I began to dream of a highland stream And a frostbit russet tree ; Of the swashing dip of a clipper ship (White canvas wet with spray) And the swirling green and milk-foam clean Along her canted lee. I heard the quick staccato click Of the typist s pounding keys, And I had to brood of a wind more rude Than that by a motor fanned And I lay inert in a flannel shirt To watch the rhyming seas Deploy and fall in a silver sprawl On a beach of sun-blanched sand. There is no desk shall tame my lust For hills and windy skies ; My secret hope of the sea s blue slope No clerkly task shaU dull; And though I print no echoed hint Of adventures I devise, 37 THE ROCKING HORSE GREEN ESCAPE (continued) My eyes still pine for the comely line Of an outbound vessel s hull. When I elope with an autumn day And make my green escape, I ll leave my pen to tamer men Who have more docile souls; For forest aisles and office files Have a very different shape, And it s hard to woo the ocean blue In a row of pigeon holes! 88 IN THE CITY VESPER SONG FOR COMMUTERS (Instead of "Marathon," the commuter may substi tute the name of his favorite suburb) r I iHE stars are kind to Marathon, ^ How low, how close, they lean! They jostle one another And do their best to please Indeed, they are so neighbourly That in the twilight green One reaches out to pick them Behind the poplar trees. The stars are kind to Marathon, And one particular Bright planet (which is Vesper) Most lucid and serene, Is waiting by the railway bridge, The Good Commuter s Star, The Star of Wise Men coming home On time, at 6:15! 39 AT HOME AT HOME THE SECRET IT was the House of Quietness To which I came at dusk; The garth was lit with roses And heavy with their musk. The tremulous tall poplar trees Stood whispering around, The gentle flicker of their plumes More quiet than no sound. And as I wondered at the door What magic might be there, The Lady of Sweet Silences Came softly down the stair. 43 THE ROCKING HORSE DEDICATION FOR A FIREPLACE THIS hearth was built for thy delight, For thee the logs were sawn, For thee the largest chair, at night, Is to the chimney drawn. For thee, dear lass, the match was lit To yield the ruddy blaze May Jack Frost give us joy of it For many, many days. AT HOME ON NAMING A HOUSE w HEN I a householder became I had to give my house a name. I thought I d call it "Poplar Trees," Or "Widdershins" or "Velvet Bees," Or "Just Beneath a Star." I thought of "House Where Plumbings Freeze," Or "As You Like It," "If You Please," Or "Nicotine" or "Bread and Cheese," "Full Moon" or "Doors Ajar." But still I sought some subtle charm, Some rune to guard my roof from harm And keep the devil far; I thought of this, and I was saved! I had my letter-heads engraved proton Cpetf THE ROCKING HORSE REFUSING YOU IMMORTALITY IF I should tell, unstinted, Your beauty and your grace, All future lads would whisper Traditions of your face; If I made public tumult Your mirth, your queenly state, Posterity would grumble That it was born too late. I will not frame your beauty In bright undying phrase, Nor blaze it as a legend For unborn men to praise For why should future lovers Be saddened and depressed? Deluded, let them fancy Their own girls loveliest! AT HOME LINES FOR AN ECCENTRIC S BOOK PLATE TO use my books all friends are bid My shelves are open for em ; And in each one, as Grolier did, I write Et Amicorum. All lovely things in truth belong To him who best employs them ; The house, the picture and the song, Are his who most enjoys them. Perhaps this book holds precious lore, And you may best discern it. If you appreciate it more Than I why don t return it ! 47 THE ROCKING HORSE THE CRIB 1 SOUGHT immortality Here and there I sent my rockets Into the air : I gave my name A hostage to ink; I dined a critic And bought him drink. I spurned the weariness Of the flesh; Denied fatigue And began afresh If men knew all, How they would laugh! I even planned My epitaph. . . . And then one night When the dusk was thin I heard the nursery Rites begin : I heard the tender Soothings said 48 AT HOME THE CRIB (continued) Over a crib, and A small sweet head. t Then in a flash It came to me That there was my Immortality ! 49 THE ROCKING HORSE THE POET r 1 1HE barren music of a word or phrase, X The futile arts of syllable and stress, He sought. The poetry of common days He did not guess. The simplest, sweetest rhythms life affords Unselfish love, true effort truly done, The tender themes that underlie all words- He knew not one. The human cadence and the subtle chime Of little laughters, home and child and wife, He knew not. Artist merely in his rhyme, Not in his life. 50 AT HOME TO A DISCARDED MIRROR isvliz IIJOY sio^ad f azBlg .HA 3 ;iifid isd bnsJ oJ baau ybsl yM ni ozib iuoy HOIBSE I Jay bnA isd *k> wobfidz smoz bnft oT bnB qssb ,oi^Bm IUOY Jdguodf I ;blod noijoaftai iBsb amoz Hila JdgiM ,9lidw aiabli/oda 10 89^3*^0 inil^g 9rno3 .bio to 9iow adz znwo 1o d8fift arno8 IIB091 Ilita teum bnuoi bsdailoq ii/oY wori2 9>IiI >lo9n adl f ao J!BW ylsnol iuoy no gnol IJOY baau 51 THE ROCKING HORSE TO A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN MY child, what painful vistas are before you! What years of youthful ills and pangs and bumps Indignities from aunts who "just adore" you, And chicken-pox and measles, croup and mumps ! I don t wish to dismay you, it s not fair to, Promoted now from bassinet to crib, But, O my babe, what troubles flesh is heir to Since God first made so free with Adam s rib! Laboriously you will proceed with teething; When teeth are here, you ll meet the dentist s chair; They ll teach you ways of walking, eating, breath ing, That stoves are hot, and how to brush your hair ; And so, my poor, undaunted little stripling, By bruises, tears, and trousers you will grow, And, borrowing a leaf from Mr. Kipling, I ll wish you luck, and moralise you so: If you can think up seven thousand methods Of giving cooks and parents heart disease; Can rifle pantry-shelves, and then give death odds By water, fire, and falling out of trees ; 52 AT HOME TO A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN (continued) If you can fill your every boyish minute With sixty seconds worth of mischief done, Yours is the house and everything that s in it, And, which is more, you ll be your father s son ! 53 THE ROCKING HORSE FOR A BIRTHDAY AT TWO years old the world he sees Must seem expressly made to please ! Such new-found words and games to try, Such sudden mirth, he knows not why, So many curiosities ! As life about him, by degrees Discloses all its pageantries He watches with approval shy At two years old. With wonders tired he takes his ease At dusk, upon his mother s knees: A little laugh, a little cry, Put toys to bed, then "seepy-bye" The world is made of such as these At two years old. 54 AT HOME SMELLS WHY is it that the poets tell So little of the sense of smeU? These are the odours I love well: The smell of coffee freshly ground; Or rich plum pudding, holly crowned; Or onions fried and deeply browned. The fragrance of a fumy pipe; The smell of apples, newly ripe; And printers ink on leaden type. Woods by moonlight in September Breathe most sweet; and I remember Many a smoky camp-fire ember. Camphor, turpentine, and tea, The balsam of a Christmas tree, These are whiffs of gramarye. . . . A ship smells best of all to me! -55 THE ROCKING HORSE SMELLS (JUNIOR) MY Daddy smells like tobacco and books, Mother, like lavender and listerine; Uncle John carries a whiff of cigars, Nannie smells starchy and soapy and clean. Shandy, my dog, has a smell of his own (When he s been out in the rain he smells most) ; But Katie, the cook, is more splendid than all She smells exactly like hot buttered toast! 56 AT HOME MY FAVOURITE FLOWERS THE yellow orchid why discuss, When you can eat asparagus ! What stained-glass window could repeat The red-veined leafage of the beet? What delicately mottled green Is in the humble, honest bean, And what a balm for sin and grief The crisp and curly lettuce leaf! The corn, in green, translucent files, Shimmers like cathedral aisles, The cabbage that the frost has touched Is like a pigeon s throat unsmutched. An onion, if you hold your nose, Is marvellous as any rose! 57 THE ROCKING HORSE THE PLUMPUPPETS WHEN little heads weary have gone to their bed, When all the good nights and the prayers have been said, Of all the good fairies that send bairns to rest The little Plumpuppets are those I love best. // your pillow is lumpy, or hot, thm and flat, The little Plumpuppets know just what they re at; They plump up the pittow, all soft, cool and fat The little Plumpuppets plump-up it! The little Plumpuppets are fairies of beds: They have nothing to do but to watch sleepy heads ; They turn down the sheets and they tuck you in tight, And they dance on your pillow to wish you good night ! No matter what troubles have bothered the day, Though your doll broke her arm or the pup ran away; Though your handies are black with the ink that was spilt Plumpuppets are waiting in blanket and quilt. 58 AT HOME THE PLUMPUPPETS (continued) // your pillow is lumpy, or hot, thm and flat, The little Plumpuppets know just what they re at; They plump up the pillow, all soft, cool and fat The Uttle Plumpuppets plump-up it! 59 THE ROCKING HORSE DANDY DANDELION WHEN Dandy Dandelion wakes And combs his yellow hair, The ant his cup of dewdrop takes And sets his bed to air; The worm hides in a quilt of dirt To keep the thrush away, The beetle dons his pansy shirt They know that it is day ! And caterpillars haste to milk The cowslips in the grass; The spider, in his web of silk, Looks out for flies that pass. These humble people leap from bed, They know the night is done: When Dandy spreads his golden head They think he is the sun! Dear Dandy truly does not smell As sweet as some bouquets ; No florist gathers him to sell, He withers in a vase; Yet in the grass he s emperor, And lord of high renown ; And grateful little folk adore His bright and shining crown. 60 AT HOME THE OLD TROUSERS WHEN Daddy comes home from the office Then Sarah and Peter and John Go hunt out the old pair of trousers And beg him to hurry them on! Those ancient remarkable garments Are hung on the hall cupboard door; Their use is not ended, as they are intended For romps on the nursery floor. The raggy old trousers, the baggy old trousers, That romp on the nursery floor. When Daddy lies down he s enormous- He is such a mountainous man! We bustle and hustle and tussle And climb to the top if we can. But then he rears up like a grizzly, And tumbles us off with a roar, And so far below him we hardly would know him, Down there on the nursery floor, If it weren t for the trousers, the jolly old trousers, That romp on the nursery floor. Dad thinks that those trousers descended From some very old patriarch; 61 THE ROCKING HORSE THE OLD TROUSERS (continued) He says they were carefully mended For Noah to wear on the ark; But though they are shabby and dusty We love them and know what they re for; And Mother will spare them while Daddy can wear them For games on the nursery floor The old fraying trousers, the old playing trousers, That romp on the nursery floor! 62 AT HOME GROWING UP SOME day I shall be too old for a crib, Old for a pinafore, old for a bib; Some day and soon, at the rate that I ve grown, I ll have a proper bed, all of my own. Some day I ll have an allowance from Dad; I won t be scolded because I am "bad"; Mother will let me cross streets unattended, The holes in my stockings won t have to be mended. Some day I ll ride in the men s smoking car, And look at Dad s paper, and smell his cigar; And I ll have a razor and long-trouser suit, And then I will learn what it means to "commute." Some day I ll eat with a fork, not a spoon; And these manly changes can t happen too soon; But one thing I d like to keep up, if I might Have Mother to tuck in my blankets at night! 63 THE ROCKING HORSE KISSING WHEN Daddy s had his morning shave His cheek is like a rose : No skin could be more smooth than his Before the stubble grows ; And when he comes out from his bath, How I would hate to miss The clean and sleeky fragrance of My Daddy s morning kiss ! But when the evening hours come round, My Daddy s cheek has grown All rough with little prickly spikes, With scratchy bristle sown; While Mother s face is always soft, And so, at night, my bliss Is in the gentle coolness of My Mother s bedtime kiss! 64 AT HOME SONG FOR A LITTLE HOUSE I M glad our house is a little house, Not too tall nor too wide: I m glad the hovering butterflies Feel free to come inside. Our little house is a friendly house* It is not shy or vain ; It gossips with the talking trees, And makes friends with the rain. And quick leaves cast a shimmer of green Against our whited walls, And in the phlox, the courteous bees Are paying duty calls. 65 THE ROCKING HORSE LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT NOT long ago I fell in love, But unreturned is my affection The girl that I m enamored of Pays little heed in my direction. I thought I knew her fairly well: In fact, I d had my arm around her ; And so it s hard to have to tell How unresponsive I have found her. For, though she is not frankly rude, Her manners quite the wrong way rub me: It seems to me ingratitude To let me love her and then snub me ! Though I m considerate and fond, She shows no gladness when she spies me She gazes off somewhere beyond And doesn t even recognise me. Her eyes, so candid, calm and blue, Seem asking if I can support her In the style appropriate to A lady like her father s daughter. 66 AT HOME LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT (continued) Well, if I can t, then no one can And let me add that I intend to: She ll never know another man So fit for her to be a friend to. Not love me, eh ? She better had ! By Jove, I ll make her love me one day ; For, don t you see, I am her Dad, And she ll be three weeks old on Sunday ! 67 THE ROCKING HORSE AT A CHILD S BEDSIDE IS there one who has not smiled At the bedside of a child? If there be one, he has missed Earth s most tender eucharist. Eager mind that, hour by hour, Opened, blossomed like a flower- To what secret honeycomb Have those wondering thoughts gone home? Little hands and eyes set free From the day s immensity, Now relaxed and innocent In a questionless content. Sleep then, sleep then, little guest ; We will house thee at the best. Tiptoe, tiptoe, on the floor- Wake not God s ambassador! 68 AT HOME PARADISE DEPRECATED WHEN the faucets all stop dripping And the bathtub never leaks ; When the house has weatherstripping Against the blizzard weeks; When the piping never freezes And plumbers cease to plumb, When every prospect pleases And we clean by vacuum When wallpaper never blisters And plaster does not fall, When larcenous laundry sisters Plunder us not at all; When kitchen maids don t mutter And tablecloths show no stain, And husbands never utter A single word profane When the rugs are never faded And eggs go down in price; When pantries are not raided By children or by mice Then wives will never be weary, Commuters will all grow fat: But heavens ! it would be dreary To live in a house like that! 69 THE ROCKING HORSE A HALLOWE EN MEMORY DO you remember, Heart s Desire, The night when Hallowe en first came? The newly dedicated fire, The hearth unsanctified by flame? How anxiously we swept the bricks (How tragic, were the draught not right!) And then the blaze enwrapped the sticks And filled the room with dancing light. We could not speak, but only gaze, Nor half believe what we had seen Our home, our hearth, our golden blaze, Our cider mugs, our Hallowe en! And then a thought occurred to me We ran outside with sudden shout And looked up at the roof, to see Our own dear smoke come drifting out. And of all man s felicities The very subtlest one, say I, Is when for the first time he sees His hearthfire smoke against the sky. 70 AT HOME NO ANSWER EXPECTED WHO bade the planets veer and spin, And loop their vast festoons? Who tipped the earth and let her roll Unerring grooves of air? Who ruled the awful passages Of suns and earths and moons, And taught them how to pass and turn With a billion miles to spare? Who balanced all these flying weights With poise and counterpoise? Who tossed these whimsic tricks in space Like marbles and tin cars? And will he, weary of his play, Fatigued by many toys, Discard his complex trinket box And shut its lid of stars? 71 THE ROCKING HORSE AUTUMN COLOURS THE chestnut trees turned yellow, The oaks like sherry browned, The fir, the stubborn fellow, Stayed green the whole year round. But O the bonny maple .How richly he does shine! He glows against the sunset Like ruddy old port wine. 72 AT HOME THE LAST CRICKET WHEN the bulb of the moon with white fire fills And dead leaves crackle under the feet, When men roll kegs to the cider mills And chestnuts roast on every street; When the night sky glows like a hollow shell Of lustred emerald and pearl, The kilted cricket knows too well His doom. His tiny bagpipes skirl. Quavering under the polished stars In stubble, thicket, and frosty copse The cricket blows a few choked bars, And puts away his pipe and stops. 73 THE ROCKING HORSE CHRISTMAS EVE OUR hearts to-night are open wide, The grudge, the grief, are laid aside: The path and porch are swept of snow, The doors unlatched; the hearthstones glow- No visitor can be denied. All tender human homes must hide Some wistfulness beneath their pride: Compassionate and humble grow Our hearts to-night. Let empty chair and cup abide! Who knows? Some well-remembered stride May come as once so long ago Then welcome, be it friend or foe! There is no anger can divide Our hearts to-night. MEMORIES MEMORIES LUSITANIA PROUDEST and dearest Of ships from the Clyde, Who has forgotten her, And how she died? Green slopes of Ireland Knelt down by the foam: To the green lap of Ireland Our dead came home. Warm hearts of Ireland Brought blanket and shawl, Straightened them, graved them, Keened for them alL Who has forgotten, Or who will forget Those pitiful graves In a green lap set? 77 THE ROCKING HORSE THE BIRTHDAY REVIEW (May 6, 1918) SAID the Prince, "This is my birthday : Day for wasp-waist, sword and stars ! Let it be a feast and mirth-day Muster my Death s Head Hussars !" Southward to the blue Swiss border, North to Flemish sand-dunes pale, Ran the Prince s birthday order, "Skull and Crossbones, zu Befehl!" Meanwhile, he put on his frock of Whalebone, tinsel, gilded braids Garments that had borne the shock of Many glittering parades. Clomb the tallest of his stallions Ready for his martial stunt ; Waiting for his proud battalions, Playboy of the Western Front. To the great reviewing stand he Cantered, and his aides deployed Angrily the royal dandy Gazed about him, much annoyed. 78 MEMORIES THE BIRTHDAY REVIEW (continued) "Where are all my men?" he thundered "Did I not give orders strict?" Uniformed attaches wondered ; Heels of sub-lieutenants clicked. Then, from trench and field blood-weary, And from hamlets black with scars, Came dead voices, thin and eerie, Spoke the Prince s lost Hussars: "I am here where Verdun held us." "In a shattered trench I lie." "I, where Joif re s legions felled us." I, and I, and I, and I." "I am where the great guns slew us. * "At Bapaume death set me free." "I, where men in blue went through us They no braver men than we." "I am here where Haig defied us." "I, where England stood at bay. * "British dead are thick beside us, We no braver men than they." "I, on Kemmel, where war squanders All that honest men desire." "I lie here in muddy Flanders On a trench s clotted wire." 79 THE ROCKING HORSE THE BIRTHDAY REVIEW (continued) "Come, Commander, what you covet We have bought you, flesh and soul This is war; and since you love it, Join us, fill our muster-roll." On the broad parade ground, waiting In his coat of braid and stars, Stood the Crown Prince, celebrating, Last of ihe Death s Head Hussars. 80 MEMORIES MOONLIGHT MOONLIGHT can never be the same, Shadow and shine in mystic tress ; In that soft glow, with bomb and flame They wrecked the wards of gentleness. Borne on the evening s tender breath, With silver-dabbled wings they came * Tears beyond tears, death beyond death; Moonlight can never be the same. 81 THE ROCKING HORSE READING TERMINAL A DINGY vault of noise and steam Vast arches and a scoop of sky; A clang and rumble, and the stream Of smug commuters pressing by A word all heads were turned and then: "A troop train waiting" "Drafted men!" The little groups were clustered, each To watch its men pass out of sight; Brave lips that shook with trivial speech, Eyes marred by secret grief all night. "Well, Jcid, PR wear a service pin! 9 "Send us a postal from Berlin!" The boys were game. Shirt-sleeved, they smoked; Taunted their friends "Your turn next draft!" Eyes swam. Apart, a sister choked; Her bosom shook as though she laughed. It was not laughter. "Gee," one cries, "This coal-gas, honey, stings one s eyes!" That is the time when teeth are set! Those sickened hours, thank God, are few * Thrust out from one life, but not yet Redeemed and girded in the new. 82 MEMORIES READING TERMINAL (continued) That is the time when naught will serve But each man s elemental nerve. I could not watch. Kind eyes must shut When human hearts are bare and raw; When all the webs of life are cut One does not dwell on what one saw. Yet all the passions of our race Vibrated in that gloomy place. A dingy vault of noise and steam Vast arches, and a scoop of sky; But that great shed can never seem The same drab place as I pass by I ll see that girl, alone, apart, Choked by her leaping, naked heart. There will be hearts for whom that place, That crowded arch of heat and trains, Will be a shrine for some lost face, An altar of old joys and pains. Ah, when you pass those gates again Think, God be with you, drafted men. July, 1918. 83 THE ROCKING HORSE AT A NEWSPAPER BULLETIN BOARD AMONG the crowd on Chestnut street I saw her reading the printed sheet That carries the lightninged bulletins Of mankind s triumphs, griefs and sins. Poor old lady! Her dress long-worn, Her little black bag with a corner torn, Her tarnished bonnet all showed to me No armistice with poverty. Her eyes, with passive, sad assent, Watched, and wondered what it meant: The pathos of that puzzled face Was symbol of the world s disgrace. Tournai is evacuated Kaiser may have abdicated a Fifteen thousand Austrians taken Enemy s morale is shaken Reichstag sitting rent in faction * U. S. men m heavy action Belgian villages defiled Casualty list compiled MEMORIES AT A NEWSPAPER BULLETIN BOARD (con tinued) All these she read, with mind inert, For those whom life has greatly hurt Seek not to struggle nor explain: They have learnt dumbness under pain. The letters on the printed roll Moved on. She stood, with patient soul: The Allies land more men in Greece Predictions of an early peace I saw the tremble of work-warped hand: There was news she could understand! O men, do justice, nor disgrace The hopefulness of that poor face ! October, 1918. 85 THE ROCKING HORSE THE ENGINEER THE seven steel-ribbed coaches Draw smoothly to the shed, And you and other passengers Now hurry home to bed; You ve done your easy hundred miles In ninety minutes clear Then thank the man who brought you, The old grey engineer. Your hope, your love, your children, The prayers that you have prayed, Lie in his faithful fingers On trestle, curve and grade; By crossing, draw and culvert His leaping engine roars, [And clear as altar lamps he sees The green-lit semaphores. Unthanked and unremembered, He holds your life secure; His service does not falter, His hand and eye are sure; A thousand tons go flashing Along that ribbon slim; The roar of his tall driving wheels Is very like a hymn. 86 MEMORIES THE ENGINEER (continued) His miracle of power Is terrible and swift; Farewells and lovers meetings Are equally his gift; In starlight or in snowstorm, A priest of creed austere, He brings you home in safety- The old grey engineer. 87 THE ROCKING HORSE A THE ISLAND SONG for England? Nay, what is a song for England? Our hearts go by green-cliff ed Kins ale Among the gulls white wings, Or where, on Kentish forelands pale The lighthouse beacon swings: Our hearts go up the Mersey s tide, Come in on Suffolk foam The blood that will not be denied Moves fast, and calls us home! Our hearts now walk a secret round On many a Cotswold hill, For we are mixed of island ground, The island draws us still: Our hearts may pace a windy turn Where Sussex downs are high, Or watch the lights of London burn, A bonfire in the sky! What is the virtue of that soil That flings her strength so wide? Her ancient courage, patient toil, Her stubborn wordless pride? 88 MEMORIES THE ISLAND (continued) A little land, yet loved therein As any land may be, Rejoicing in her discipline, The salt stress of the sea. Our hearts shall walk a Sherwood track, Our lips taste English rain, We thrill to see the Union Jack Across some deep-sea lane ; Though all the world be of rich cost And marvellous with worth, Yet if that island ground were lost How empty were the earth! A song for England? Lo, every word we speak s a song for England. 89 THE ROCKING HORSE THE TREES THE poplar is a French tree, A tall and laughing wench tree, A slender tree, a tender tree, That whispers to the rain An easy, breezy flapper tree, A lithe and blithe and dapper tree, A girl of trees, a pearl of trees, Beside the shallow Aisne. The oak is a British tree, And not at all a skittish tree: A rough tree, a tough tree, A knotty tree to bruise; A drives-his-roots-in-deep tree, A what-I-find-I-keep tree, A mighty tree, a Blighty tree, A tree of stubborn thews. The pine tree is our own tree, A grown tree, a cone tree, The tree to face a bitter wind, The tree for mast and spar A mountain tree, a fine tree, A fragrant turpentine tree, A limber tree, a timber tree, And resinous with tar I 90 MEMORIES THE TRUCE WHY do men speak with bated breath Of this strange truce that they call Death? Death is not Life s antithesis, It may be but an armistice. What is Death s analogue on earth? It is not Life, but rather Birth. Men fear not to be born ; then why Should they be so alarmed to die? 91 RUBBER HEELS RUBBER HEELS REQUIEM, ON DISCARDING AN OLD SUIT FAREWELL, a long farewell, to my old breeches ! Farewell, sweet shabby coat and soup-stained vest! Farewell, /dear trousers, patched with careful stitches ! The good old suit, my wife says, has "gone West." These trousers which (my dear) you say disgraced me Which "furnace men would be too proud to wear" For twelve long months they lovingly embraced me. When shall I see again so fine a pair? They were the colour of tobacco ashes (A pipe could never harm such pantaloons), And they were camouflaged with stains and splashes. Fond souvenir of feats with forks and spoons. 95 THE ROCKING HORSE REQUIEM, ON DISCARDING AN OLD SUIT (continued) I knew by heart which pockets could be trusted, And which let small change vanish through a hole ; Though ragged, baggy, wrinkled, mud-encrusted, If ever breeks do, those breeks had a soul! And now, dolled up in crass new coat and trousers, Ashamed and sad, I pace the lonely street, Unhappy in my finery, for now, sirs, My friends will never know me when we meet! 96 RUBBER HEELS THE NIGHT BEFORE PAYDAY TT^WAS the night before payday, and all through JL my jeans I hunted in vain for the price of some beans. Not a quarter was stirring, not even a jit; The kale was off duty, milled edges had quit. Forward, turn forward, O Time, in thy flight Make it to-morrow, just for to-night! 97 THE ROCKING HORSE AN ECSTATIC TRIBUTE SHE does not whistle, shout or hum, And watch the clock all afternoon; She does not chew incessant gum, She does her job, and does it soon. She keeps the calendar correct, She does not tangle up the files; She gives the boss no disrespect, Nor plays tag in the stockroom aisles. She does not wear ink on her face, She is no fount of endless noise: Our office is a different place Try office girls instead of boys ! 98 RUBBER HEELS EPITAPH ON THE PROOFREADER OF THE ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA MAJESTIC tomes, you are the tomb Of Aristides Edward Bloom, Who laboured, from the world aloof. In reading every page of proof. From A to And, from Aus to Bis Enthusiasm still was his; From Cal to Cha, from Cha to Con His soft-lead pencil still went on. But reaching volume Fra to Gib, He knew at length that he was sib To Satan; and he sold his soul To reach the section Pay to Pol. Then Pol to Ree, and Shu to Sub He staggered on, and sought a pub. And just completing Vet to Zym, The motor hearse came round for him. He perished, obstinately brave: They laid the Index on his grave. 99 THE ROCKING HORSE JOHN J. HARRISON JOHN J. HARRISON peace to his head!- Had one passion, and that was bed. Truly he counted the day ill-spent Unless by nine to the hay he went. My, how he loved, on a winter s night, To turn down the coverlet, tuck up tight, And lie, like the beautiful girl in Keats, A little bit goose-fleshed, between cold sheets. Buried by blanket and padded quilt, Many a castle in Spain he built; Nestled and snuggled and spread his toes, And just evaporated into repose. John J. Harrison wisely deemed That sleep can never be overesteemed, And a twelve-hour night, on good wire springs, Is something rare in the lives of kings. The passion that most men bestow On golf or cards or tit-tat-toe, On the other sex, or baseball scores, J. J. H. put in on snores. 100 RUBBER HEELS JOHN J. HARRISON (continued) Oh! that man made sleep a career; He would lie and pound his ear Eighty Ostermoor hours a week What do you think of that technique? I, as his roommate, had often chidden Him for being so bedridden: It looked to me like a certain sign Of horizontality of the spine! John s sleepmeter would mew and buzz, But never could lure him out of the fuzz. At eight o clock, when to work I went, John would register great content. "Sleep," he said, "appeals to me, So I take it seriously: I could slumber forever, old pup Sleep and sleep, and never wake up." He was a man I so admired That I helped him to what he desired: What he wanted was what he got I put a rattlesnake in his cot. 101 THE ROCKING HORSE BALLADE OF DROWSINESS 1 HEARD a young efficiency expert Remark, "A man should never sleep by day." When I heard this I felt a trifle hurt: A nap does help to pass the time away! Upon the filing case my head I lay, Massage my soul with slumber long and deep I must have been compact of drowsy clay, For nothing rests me quite as much as sleep. The boss has sometimes made a comment curt, And says he will abbreviate my pay, Then I have tried to make a valiant spurt And keep the dear old Lethargy at bay. No use! My mind is heavy as a dray, I never need to count a row of sheep. Upon my rolltop desk I hit the hay, For nothing rests me quite as much as sleep. Stenographers have waited, all alert, To hear what grave dictation I might say Then suddenly my form becomes inert And I collapse (to their intense dismay). Though I have drunk black coffee by the tray My vital tide won t rise above the neap. Upon my spine my head begins to sway For nothing rests me quite as much as sleep. r 102 " RUBBER HEELS BALLADE OF DROWSINESS (continued) ENVOY No pillow, I with confidence assert, Can beat three phone books piled up in a heap. Siestas should be public and overt, For nothing rests me quite as much as sleep. 103 THE ROCKING HORSE BALLADE OF GETTING ONE S FEET WET- (continued) ENVOY This is the thing men may not flee, The thing no womenfolk forget Some day my grandchild will decree "Good gracious me, your feet are wet !" 106 RUBBER HEELS LINES ON THE CONSECRATION OF A NEW SMOKING CAR LOVELY brand-new smoking car Sacred to the rich cigar, Carry, safely and with speed, Happy lovers of the weed! Varnished, shining, fresh and clean, Caravan of nicotine, Lo, we wish thee long career, Rolling stock without a peer! Welcome to suburban traffic! Smokers all rejoice seraphic; And the many who commute May sit down with their cheroot. Lo, how fervent is our praise If thy windows we can raise! 107 THE ROCKING HORSE THE ORPHAN POEM A POET said, "I ll write a song that every one will sing, A verse with just the human note that carries fast and far I shall be known forever as the man who wrote that thing; The papers will reprint it from here to Zanzibar !" He wrote the piece, "Those Old Blue Jeans." It made a ready hit, And in the mazes of the press the song began to range ; But some one s hasty scissors snipped the author s name from it, And everywhere he saw it, it was credited "Exchange." Anthologies, the rural press and patent almanacs Reprinted it; and humourists revamped it for their turns ; He found it in his clippings, which were piling up in stacks, Attributed to Riley, Eugene Field and Robby Burns. 108 RUBBER HEELS THE ORPHAN POEM (continued) He tried to catch the orphan: he sought in his distress To salt its tail and make the poem wear the name it ought; The derelict kept wandering on the ocean of the press If he nailed it down in Portland, it popped up in Terre Haute! He wrote to all the editors of all the magazines Until they wished the wretched man were laid beneath the ferns ; And when he called they d lock the door and say "Here s Old Blue Jeans: The idiot who thinks he wrote that piece by Robby Burns !" The moral of the ditty is just this, my poet friends When you write those homely poems, put your name on at both ends ! 109 THE ROCKING HORSE GRACE BEFORE HOT WEATHER (To the Weather Man) FOR what we surely shall receive, For sultry heat and lightning prankful, For storms you may have up your sleeve, We pray thee, Boss, to make us thankful. July and August come apace, The burning days that vex us greatly: The sky will show no April face Such as our hearts rejoiced in lately. But though we stew with beaded brow, And crave the self -destroying pistol, We shall (we hope) remember how You gave us days so cool and crystal. Whate er you send to wilt and grieve Humidity and heat together We thank thee, Boss, for this reprieve, This spell of mild and joyous weather! 110 RUBBER HEELS KITH AND KIN THE Lisping Lovers, nice young things, Are walking arm in arm; But chaperones who hear them talk Show no signs of alarm. Their words are all of relatives And wholly without sin: When he says, "May I have a kith?" She answers, "Sure, you kin." Ill THE ROCKING HORSE o TEN LITTLE COCKTAILS NE little cocktail between me and you You said: "Another one?" Then there were two. Two little cocktails, jolly as could be: Along came Freddy, and then there were three. Three little cocktails "I never take more." But Freddy insisted, and then there were four. My head began to spin and buzz like a hive, But no one would weaken, and so there were five. Five little cocktails, guaranteed to mix "Let s try a Clover Club" and then there were six. Six little cocktails feel just like heaven. "One more to sober up" and that made seven. Seven little cocktails it must be getting late. "This one s on me, Bill" and then there were eight. Eight little cocktails dancing down your spine . . . "Bad luck to quit now," and so there were nine. Nine little cocktails soon become ten !!...???((($$$&&)))!! Ring for the ambulance Never Again! 112 RUBBER HEELS WHEN SHAKESPEARE LAUGHED WHEN Shakespeare laughed, the fun began! Even the tavern barmaids ran To choke in secret, and unbent A lace, to ease their merriment. The Mermaid rocked to hear the man. Then Ben his aching girth would span. And roar above his pasty pan, "Avast there, Will, for I am spent I" When Shakespeare laughed. I faith, let him be grave who can When Falstaff, Puck and Caliban In one explosive jest are blent. The boatmen on the river lent An ear to hear the mirthful clan When Shakespeare laughed. 113 THE ROCKING HORSE !TO LUATH (Robert Bums s Dog) "Darling Jean" was Jean Armour, a "comely country lass," whom Burns met at a penny wedding at Mauchlme. They chanced to be dancing in the same quadrille when the poet s dog sprang to his master and almost upset some of the dancers. Burns remarked that he wished he could get any of the lasses to like him as well as his dog did. Some days afterward, Jean, seeing him pass as she was bleaching clothes on the village green, called to him and asked him if he had yet got any of the lapses to like him as well as his dog did. That was the beginning of an acquaintance that coloured all of Burns 9 s Ufe. NATHAN HASKELL DOLE. WELL, Luath, man, when you came prancing All glee to see your Robin dancing, His partner s muslin gown mischancing You leaped for joy! And little guessed what sweet romancing You caused, my boy! With happy bark, that moment jolly, You frisked and frolicked, faithful collie; His other dog, old melancholy, Was put to flight 114 RUBBER HEELS TO LUATH (continued) But what a tale of grief and folly You wagged that night ! Ah, Luath, tyke, your bonny master Whose lyric pulse beat ever faster Each time he saw a lass and passed her His breast went bang! In many a woful heart s disaster He felt the pang! Poor Robin s heart, forever burning, Forever roving, ranting, yearning, From you that heart might have been learning To be less fickle ! Might have been spared so many a turning And grievous prickle! Your collie heart held but one notion When Robbie jigged in sprightly motion You ran to show your own devotion And gambolled too, And so that tempest on love s ocean Was due to you! Well, it is ower late for preaching And hearts are aye too hot for teaching! When Robin with his eye beseeching By greenside came, Jeanie poor lass forgot her bleaching And yours the blame ! 115 THE ROCKING HORSE BALLADE OF AN AMBROSIAL EVENING I KNOW a pub where I can chow at dusk On lentil soup, grilled kidneys and white wine ; Take coffee in the garden, with a rusk, And smoke black leaf tobacco while I dine Can drink liqueurs until my seasoned spine Begins to tingle and my brain to whirr: Then bring a candle, landlord, just at nine, And have the sheets perfumed with lavender ! Pour me a claret (Medoc, sweet as musk!) Carve me a juicy cut along the chine, Then watch me ply a not unwilling tusk And quaff the western sun down his decline. Perhaps some olives, seasoned well in brine, Our pot of shandygaff, if you prefer ; But, landlord, to complete the fair design, Pray have the sheets perfumed with lavender! No heavy vintage : nothing strong or brusque, The smooth and mellow essence of the vine Perhaps some green corn, roasted in the husk, And omelette singed with brandy O benign! Allegro ma non troppo is my line: The graceful mean where all the arts concur To make one long ambrosial evening mine, And then O sheets perfumed with lavender! 116 RUBBER HEELS BALLADE OF AN AMBROSIAL EVENING (con tinued) ENVOY O best of landlords ! Let your light so shine That many another thirsty wanderer May (after dinner) all his cares resign And find your sheets perfumed with lavender! 117 THE ROCKING HORSE THOUGHTS ON REACHING LAND 1HAD a friend whose path was pain Oppressed by all the cares of earth Life gave him little chance to drain His secret cisterns of rich mirth. His work was hasty, harassed, vexed: His dreams were laid aside, perforce, Until in this world, or the next. . . . (His trade? Newspaper man, of course!) What funded wealth of tenderness, What ingots of the heart and mind He must uneasily repress Beneath the rasping daily grind. But now and then, and with my aid, For fear his soul be wholly lost, His devoir to the grape he paid To call soul back, at any cost! Then, liberate from discipline, Undrugged by caution and control, Through all his veins came flooding in The virtued passion of his soul! 118 RUBBER HEELS THOUGHTS ON REACHING LAND (continued) His spirit bared, and felt no shame: With holy light his eyes would shine See Truth her acolyte reclaim After the second glass of wine! The self that life had trodden hard Aspired, was generous and free: The glowing heart that care had charred Grew flame, as it was meant to be. A pox upon the canting lot Who call the glass the Devil s shape A greater pox where er some sot Defiles the honour of the grape. Then look with reverence on wine That kindles human brains uncouth There must be something part divine In aught that brings us nearer Truth! So continently skull your fumes (Here let our little sermon end) And bless this X-ray that illumes The secret bosom of your friend ! 119 THE ROCKING HORSE A SYMPOSIUM THERE was a Russian novelist Whose name was Solugubrious, The reading circles took him up, (They d heard he was salubrious.) The women s club of Cripple Creek Soon held a kind of seminar To learn just what his message was You know what bookworms women are. The tea went round. After five cups (You should have seen them bury tea) Dear Mrs. Brown said what she liked Was the great man s sincerity. Sweet Mrs. Jones (how free she was From all besetting vanity) Declared that she loved even more His broad and deep humanity. Good Mrs. Smith, though she disclaimed All thought of being critical, Protested that she found his work A wee bit analytical. 120 RUBBER HEELS A SYMPOSIUM (continued) But Mrs. Black, the President, Of wisdom found the pinnacle : She said, "Dear me, I always think Those Russians are so cynical" Well, poor old Solugubrious, It s true that they had heard of him; But neither Brown, Jones, Smith, nor Black Had ever read a word of him ! THE ROCKING HORSE A BASEMENT LOVE SONG OLOVE of mine, some months ago (Emotion my speech hinders) Our passion lost its ruddy glow And flickered out in cinders. And yet, old dear, that winter through (Before our paths divided) Did any other care for you As ardently as I did? But now resumes love s festival, Rekindling ancient embers And all the former fever shall Revivify your members. Again I ll woo you, and will deem You worthy of your wages, And, as a gauge of my esteem, Keep steam up in your gauges. When bitter blasts howl wintrily I ll hug you close. My love ll Be large with chestnut, egg and pea, And buss you with a shovel ! 122 RUBBER HEELS A HYMN OF HATE FOR HAY FEVER OF all things that exasperate And drive us on to dice and liquor; Of all the ills that rouse our hate And make us pray that death come quicker 3 Of all the plagues that harass earth And bid us hasten to bereave her, There is no pang since Adam s birth Quite so degrading as hay fever. Amid abominable throes, Contortions utterly displeasing, And racked by these incessant blows And jets and trumpetings of sneezing; Throughout the prickling, roaring fits, The agonies past all abating, We echo stiU that gifted Fritz Who taught the world the art of hating: We sneeze as one and we groan as one, We hate one thmg and one alone, ; HAY FEVER! -123 THE ROCKING HORSE A FREUDIAN LULLABY LULLABY, my precious child, Psychoanalyse your mind ! Wakeful though you are, and wild, Let us see if you can find Motives that you have repressed Which might interrupt your rest? Have you unfulfilled desires In your mystic little head? Dreams of toys with rubber tire That must be interpreted? Lullaby and tranquil keep I impose the will-to-sleep. Lullaby and close your eyes, For your nap must lie enjoyed: I will psychoanalyse In the mode of Mr. Freud In unconsciousness immersed, Maybe I shall slumber first ! 124 RUBBER HEELS * SYNTHETIC POEMS Revery I ALWAYS intended to be A stern silent man V T ith a level, piercing gaze A man before whom Even the bartender would quail. But somehow I am a little late In getting started. Warning I have said it before: I shall say it again: Look out for the theories, For the facts Can take care of themselves. Uneasiness Sometimes when I am writing poetry I have an uncomfortable feeling That I am about to be Interrupted By a flash of prose. 125 THE ROCKING HORSE SYNTHETIC POEMS (continued) Pessimism I always ask At least three trainmen If this is the right train for where I am going. Even then, I hardly believe them. What, Indeed? A girl with brown eyes Said to n "What s the Big Idea?" And to tell you the truth I hardly know. Catt for Volunteers The Truth is greatly improved By not being uttered. Assist in this great work! Lack of Balance The Prune Exchange Bank Refused my account Because I tried to deposit A dew-spangled cobweb And a post-dated sunset. 126 RUBBER HEELS ABDICATION THERE are too many poets : competition Is hot and heavy in the rhyming trade, And (to be frank) I have a dark suspicion That after all the work is underpaid. And I have always yearned to be a grocer And sell the freshest eggs were ever henned Or say to fretful customers, Oh no, sir, That brand we do not care to recommend! So I shall sell my rhyming dictionary, And in some little neat suburban block Between a Chinese laundry and a dairy I ll buy a store and there display my stock. The window will be full of jams and cocoa, And there will be a glass case of cigars, And canisters of spice from Orinoco, Prunes, gingerbread, and Castile soap in bars, Forgetful of my literary vices, I ll revel in my barrels, tins, and kegs ; If editors should come, I ll raise my prices And sell them uncertificated eggs. But comes the noble critic who, reviewing My verses, was so generous to me, Whate er he asks yea, sugar, citron, bluing, Tea, tripe or olives he shall have it free! 127 THE ROCKING HORSE STANZAS WRITTEN IN DEJECTION WHEN I read the poems of greater bards a Their music, grace and wit, Their deeply blended sound and sense, The melody they have writ, Then I am smitten with sharp chagrin And envy chills my ink : Why can t I think the beautiful thoughts The other poets think? Why is my Muse so weak of wing, My bag of rhymes so light? Why can t I write the thundering stuff The other poets write? THE END 128 THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO SO CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $I.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. MAY 3 1 MAY 4 1 MAY 5 183 171934 JUN 6 1934 NOV 29 1935 MAR 9 1936 24 1940 OCT29I940M Jt - v n* APR 2Q 7955 LD 21-50m-l, 33 Morley, M864 The rocking horse. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY