PS ertinent Poems EDMUND VANCE ?W i I LIBRARY uwvtKsrn of- CALIFORNIA SAN DIEGO 17x5 Impertinent Poems Impertinent Poems By Edmund Vance Cooke Author of " A Patch of Pansies," " Rimes to be Read," etc. BOSTON AND CHICAGO FORBES & COMPANY 1903 Copyright, 790?, by EDMUND VANCE COOKE These Impertinent Poems are dedicated to whomever may like them. COVER DESIGNED BY ALTON PACKARD Colonial $rtss Electrotyped and Printed by C. H. Simonds & Co. Boston. Mass., U.S.A. A PRE - IMPERTINENCE Anticipating the intelligent critic of " Im pertinent Poems," it may well be remarked that the chief impertinence is in calling them poems. Be that as it may, the editors and publishers of The Saturday Evening Post and Ainslee s Magazine share with the author the reproach of first promoting their publicity. That they are now willing to fur ther reduce their share of the burden by dividing it with the present publishers en titles them to the thanks of the author and the gratitude of the book-buying public. E. v. c. CONTENTS PAGE Dead Men s Dust . 1 1 You Too 15 Don t You? .,....,.. 19 Don t Take Your Troubles to Bed 22 Good 24 Success 27 The Grill 31 Blood Is Red . . . 34 Diagnosis 36 The Dilettante . 38 Desire 40 Hush 43 Plug ....... f. 46 Conscience Pianissimo 51 You Wait 55 Pass 58 Move 6 1 Are You You ? 65 The Bubble - Flies 67 How Did You Die? 70 IMPERTINENT POEMS v DEAD MEN S DUST You don t buy poetry. (Neither do I.) Why? You cannot afford it? Bosh! you spend Editions de luxe on a thirsty friend. You can buy any one of the poetry bunch For the price you pay for a business lunch. Don t you suppose that a hungry head, Like an empty stomach, ought to be fed? Looking into myself, I find this true, So I hardly can figure it false in you. ,,And you don t read poetry very much. (Such Is my own case also.) " But," you cry, " I have n t the time." Beloved, you lie. IMPERTINENT POEMS When a scandal happens in Buffalo, You ponder the details, con and pro; If poets were pugilists, could n t you tell Which of the poets licked John L.? If poets were counts, could your wife be fooled As to which of the poets married a Gould? And even my books might have some hope If poetry books were books of dope. You re a little bit swift," you say to me, "See!" You open your library. There you show Your " favorite poets," row on row, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Tennyson, Poe, A Homer unread, an uncut Horace, A wholly forgotten William Morris. My friend, my friend, can it be you thought That these were poets whom you had bought? These are dead men s bones. You bought their mummies 12 DEAD MEN S DUST To display your style, like clothing dummies. But when do they talk to you? Some one said That these were poets which should be read, So here they stand. But tell me, pray, How many poets who live to-day Have you, of your own volition, sought, Discovered and tested, proved and bought, With a grateful glow that the dollar you spent Netted the poet his ten per cent. ? " But hold on," you say, " I am reading you" True, And pitying, too, the sorry end Of the dog I tried this on. My friend, I can write poetry good enough So you would n t look at the worthy stuff. But knowing what you prefer to read I m setting the pace at about your speed, IMPERTINENT POEMS Being rather convinced these truths will hold you A little bit better than if I d told you A genuine poem and forgotten to scold you. Besides, when I open my little room And see my poets, each in his tomb, With his mouth dust-stopped, I turn from the shelf And I must scold you, or scold myself. YOU TOO YOU TOO Did you ever make some small success And brag your little brag, As if your breathing would impress The world and fix your tag Upon it, so that all might see The label loudly reading, " ME ! " And when you thought you d gained the height And, sunning in your own delight, You preened your plumes and crowed "All right 1" Did something wipe you out of sight? Unless you did this many a time You need n t stop to read this rime. When I was mamma s little joy And not the least bit tough, 15 IMPERTINENT POEMS I d sometimes whop some other boy (If he were small enough) And for a week I d wear a chip, And at the uplift of a lip I d lord it like a pigmy pope, Until, when I had run my rope, Some bullet-headed little Swope Would clean me out as slick as soap. No doubt you were as bad, or worse, Or else you had not read this verse. All women were like pica print When I was young and wise; I d read their very souls by dint Of looking in their eyes. And in those limpid souls I d see A very fierce regard for me. And then my, my, it makes me faint! Peroxide and a pinkish paint Gave me the hard, hard heart complaint. I saw the sham, I felt the taint, 16 YOU TOO Yet if she d pat me once or twice, I d follow like a little fyce. I never played a little game And won a five or ten, But, presto ! I was not the same As common makes of men. Not Solomon and all his kind Held half the wisdom of my mind. And so I d swell to twice my size, And throw my hat across my eyes, And chew a quill, and wear red ties, And tip you off the stock to rise Until, at last, I d have to steal The baby s bank to buy a meal. I speak as if these things remained All in the perfect tense, And yet I don t suppose I Ve gained A single ounce of sense. I scoff these tales of yesterday 17 IMPERTINENT POEMS In quite a supercilious way, But by to-morrow I may bump Into some newer game and jump! You 11 think I am the only trump In all the deck until kerslump ! Unless you 11 do the same some time, Of course you have n t read this rime. 18 DON T YOU? DON T YOU? When the plan that I have to grow suddenly rich Grows weary of leg and drops into the ditch, And scheme follows scheme Like the web of a dream To glamor and glimmer and shimmer and seem, Only seem ; And then, when the world looks unfadably blue, If my rival sails by, With his head in the sky, And sings " How is business? " why, what do I do? Well, I claim that I aim to be honest and true, But I sometimes lie. Don t you? 19 IMPERTINENT POEMS When something at home is decidedly wrong, When somebody sings a false note in the song, Too low or too high, And, you hardly know why, But it wrangles and jangles and runs all awry, Aye, awry! And then, at the moment when things are askew, Some cousin sails in With a face all a-grin, And a " Do I intrude ? Oh, I see that I do ! " Well, then, though I aim to be honest and true, Still I sometimes lie. Don t you? When a man that I need has some foible or fad, Not very commendable, not very bad; Perhaps it s his daughter, 20 DON T YOU? And some one has taught her To daub up an " oil " or to streak up a "water"; What a "water"! And her grass is green green and her sky is blue blue, But her father, with pride, In a stagey aside Asks my " candid opinion." Then what do I do? Well, I claim that I aim to be honest and true, But I sometimes lie. Don t you? 21 IMPERTINENT POEMS DON T TAKE YOUR TROUBLES TO BED You may labor your fill, friend of mine, if you will; You may worry a bit, if you must; You may treat your affairs as a series of cares, You may live on a scrap and a crust ; But when the day s done, put it out of your head ; Don t take your troubles to bed. You may batter your way through the thick of the fray, You may sweat, you may swear, you may grunt; You may be a jack-fool if ypu must, but this rule 22 DON T TAKE TROUBLES TO BED Should ever be kept at the front : Don t fight with your pillow, but lay down your head And kick every worriment out of the bed. That friend or that foe (which he is, I don t know), Whose name we have spoken as Death, Hovers close to your side, while you run or you ride, And he envies the warmth of your breath ; But he turns him away, with a shake of his head, When he finds that you don t take your troubles to bed. IMPERTINENT POEMS GOOD You look at yourself in the glass and say : " Really, I m rather distingue. To be sure my eyes Are assorted in size, And my mouth is a crack Running too far back, And I hardly suppose An unclassified nose Is a mark of beauty, as beauty goes ; But still there s something about the whole Suggesting a beauty of well, say soul." And this is the reason that photograph-gal leries Are able to pay employees salaries. Now, this little mark of our brotherhood, By which each thinks that his looks are good, GOOD Is laudable quite in you and me, Provided we not only look, but be. I look at my poem and you hear me say : " Really, it s clever in its way. The theme is old And the style is cold. These words run rude; That line is crude ; And here is a rhyme Which fails to chime, And the metre dances out of time. Oh, it is n t so bright it 11 blind the sun, But it s better than this by Such-a-one." And this is the reason I and my creditors Curse the " unreasoning whims " of edi tors, And yet, if one writes for a livelihood, He ought to believe that his work is good, Provided the form that his vanity takes Not only believes, but also makes. 25 IMPERTINENT POEMS And there is our neighbor. We ve heard him say: " Really, I m not the commonest clay. Brown got his dust By betraying a trust; And Jones s wife Leads a terrible life; While I have heard That Robinson s word Is n t quite as good as Gas preferred. And Smith has a soul with seamy cracks, For he talks of people behind their backs ! " And these are the reasons the penitentiary Holds open house for another century. True, we want no man in our neighborhood Who does n t consider his character good, But then it ought to be also true He not only knows to consider, but do. SUCCESS SUCCESS It s little the difference where you arrive; The serious question is how you strive. Are you up to your eyes in a wild ro mance? Does your lady lead you a dallying dance? Do you question if love be fate, or chance? Oh, the world will ask " Did he get the girl? " Though gentleman, coxcomb, clown or churl, Master or menial of passion s whirl. But it is n t that. The world will run Though you never bequeath it daughter or son, But what, O lover, will come to you If you be not chivalrous, honest, true? As far ahead as a man may think, 27 IMPERTINENT POEMS You can see your little soul shrivel and shrink. It s not, " Do you win? " It is " What have you been? " Are you stripped for the world-old, world wide race For the metal which shines like the sun s own face Till it dazzles us blind to the mean and base? Do you say to yourself, " When I have my hoard, I will give of the plenty which I have stored, If the Lord bless me, I will bless the Lord "? And do you forget, as you pile your pelf, What is the gift you are giving yourself? Though your mountain of gold may dazzle the day, Can you climb its height with your feet of clay? 28 SUCCESS Oh, it is n t the stamp on the metal you win; It s the stamp on the metal you coin within. It s not what you give; It is " What do you live? " Are you going to sail the polar seas To the point of ninety and north degrees, Where the very words in your larynx freeze? Well, the mob may ask " Did he reach the pole? Though fair, or foul, did he touch the goal? " But if that be the spirit which stirs your soul, Off, off from the land below the zeroes; For you are not of the stuff of heroes. Ho! many a man can lead men forth To the fearsome end of the Farthest North, But can you be faithful for woe or weal In a land where nothing but self is leal? 29 IMPERTINENT POEMS Oh, it is n t " How far? " It is what you are. And it is n t your lookout where you arrive, But it s up to you as to how you strive. THE GRILL THE GRILL Why do you? What s it to you? I know you do, for I Ve seen the gruesome feeling simmer through you. I Ve seen it rise behind your eyes And take your features by surprise. I Ve seen it in your half -hid grin And the tilting-upness of your chin. Good-natured though you are and fair, as you have often boasted, Still you like to hear the other man artisti cally roasted. Whenever the star secures the stage with the spotlight in the centre, Why should the anvil chorus think it has the cue to enter? 31 IMPERTINENT POEMS Whenever the prima donna trills the E above the clef, Why should the brasses orchestrate the bass in double f ? It s funny, But it s even money, You like to spy the buzzing fly in the other fellow s honey. Though you have said that honest bread Demands no honey on it spread, And if we eat the crusty wheat With appetite, it needs no sweet, Still I have noticed you were not at all in clined to cry Because the man the bees had blest was bothered with the fly. Whenever the chef concocts a dish which sets the world to tasting, 32 THE GRILL Why does the cooking-school get out its recipes for basting? Whenever a sprinter beats the bunch from the pistol-shot, why is it The heavy hammer throwers get together for a visit? Excuse me! Did you accuse me Of turning the spit a little bit myself? Why, you amuse me! Did n t I scratch the sulphurous match And blow the flame to make it catch? Did n t you trot to get the pot To heat the water good and hot? Then, seizing on our victim, if we found no greater sin, Did n t we call him " a lobster," and cheer fully chuck him in? 33 IMPERTINENT POEMS BLOOD IS RED Some of us don t drink, some of us do; Some of us use a word or two. Most of us, maybe, are half-way ripe For deeds that would n t look well in type. All of us have done things, no doubt, We don t very often brag about. We are timidly good, we are badly bold, But there s hope for the worst of us, I hold, If there be a few things we did n t do, For the reason that we so wanted to. Some of us sin on a smaller scale. (We don t mind minnows, we shy at a whale.) We speak of a woman with half a sneer, We sit on our hands when we ought to cheer. The salad we mix in the bowl of the heart 34 BLOOD IS RED We sometimes make a little too tart For home consumption. We growl, we nag, But we re not quite lost if we sometimes drag The hot words back and make them mild At the moment they fret to be running wild. Don t pin your faith on the man or woman Who never is tempted. We re mostly human. And whoever he be who never has felt The red blood sing in the veins and melt The ice of convention, caste and creed, To the very last barrier, has no need To raise his brows at the rest of us. It bides its time in the rest of us, And well for him if he do not do That which the strength of him wants him to. 35 IMPERTINENT POEMS DIAGNOSIS You have a grudge against the man Who did the thing you could n t do. You hatched the scheme, you laid the plan, And yet you could n t push it through. You strained your soul and could n t win ; He gave a breath and it was easy. You smile and swallow your chagrin, But, oh, the swallow makes you queasy. I know your illness, for, you see, The diet never pleases me. Your dearest friend has made a strike, Has placed his mark above the crowd, Has won the thing which you would like And you are glad for him, and proud. Your tongue is swift, your cheek is red, 36 DIAGNOSIS If some one speak to his detraction, And yet, the fact the thing is said Affords you half a satisfaction. I see the workings of your mind Because my own is so inclined. You tell me fame is hollow squeak, You say that wealth is carking care; And to live care-free a single week Is more than years of work and wear. Alexander weeps his highest place, Diogenes is happy sunning! What matters it who wins the race So you have had the joy of running? And yet, you covet prize and pelf. I know it, for I do, myself. 37 IMPERTINENT POEMS THE DILETTANTE To lie outright in the light of day I m not sufficiently skilful, But I practice a bit, in an amateur way, The lie which is hardly wilful; The society lie and the business lie And the lie I have had to double, And the lie that I lie when I don t know why And the truth is too much trouble. For this I am willing to take your blame Unless you have sometimes done the same. To be a fool of an Al brand I m not sufficiently clever, But I often have tried my prentice hand In a callow and crude endeavor; A fool with the money for which I Ve toiled, A fool with the word I Ve spoken, 38 THE DILETTANTE And the foolish fool who is fooled and foiled On a maiden s finger broken. If you never yourself have made a slip, I m willing to watch you curl your lip. And yet my blood and my bone resist If you dub me fool and liar. I set my teeth and double my fist And my brow is flushed with fire. You I deny and you I defy And I vow I will make you rue it; And I lie when I say that I never lie, Which proves me a fool to do it! You may jerk your thumb at me and grin If liar and fool you never have been. 39 IMPERTINENT POEMS DESIRE Oh, the ripe, red apple which handily hung And flaunted and taunted and swayed and swung, Till it itched your fingers and tickled your tongue, For it was juicy and you were young! But you held your hands and you ti Tr/"Vl!f Iwitl/l you turned your head, And you thought of the switch which hung in the shed, And you did n t take it (or so you said) , But tell me did n t you want to? Oh, the rounded maiden who passed you by. Whose cheek was dimpled, whose glance was shy, 40 DESIRE But who looked at you out of the tail of her eye, And flirted her skirt just a trifle high! Oh, you were human and not sedate, But you thought of the narrow way and straight, And you did n t follow (or so you state) , But tell me did n t you want to ? Oh, the golden chink and the sibilant sign Which sang of honey and love and wine, Of pleasure and power when the sun s ashine And plenty and peace in the day s decline! Oh, the dream was schemed and the play was planned ; You had nothing to do but to reach your hand, But you did n t (or so I understand), But tell me did n t you want to? 41 IMPERTINENT POEMS Oh, you wanted to, yes ; and hence you crow That the Want To within you found its foe Which wanted you not to want to, and so You were able to answer always " No." So you tell yourself you are pretty fine clay To have tricked temptation and turned it away ; But wait, my friend, for a different day! Wait till you want to want to! HUSH HUSH What s the best thing that you ever have done? The whitest day, The cleverest play That ever you set in the shine of the sun? The time that you felt just a wee bit proud Of defying the cry of the cowardly crowd And stood back to back with God? Aye, I notice you nod, But silence yourself, lest you bring me shame That I have no answering deed to name. What s the worst thing that ever you did? The darkest spot, The blackest blot 43 IMPERTINENT POEMS On the page you have pasted together and hid? Ah, sometimes you think you Ve forgotten it quite, Till it crawls in your bed in the dead of the night And brands you its own with a blush. What was it? Nay, hush! Don t tell it to me, for fear it be known That I have an answering blush of my own. But whenever you notice a clean hit made, Sing high and clear The sounding cheer You would gladly have heard for the play you played. And when a man walks in the way forbidden, Think you of the thing you have happily hidden And spare him the sting of your tongue. 44 HUSH Do I do that which I Ve sung? Well, it may be I don t and it may be I do, But I m telling the thing which is good for you! 45 IMPERTINENT POEMS PLUG As you have n t asked me for advice, I 11 give it to you now : Plug! No matter who or what you are, or where you are, the how Is plug. You may take your dictionary unabridged and con it through, You may swallow the Britannica and all its retinue, But here I lay it f . o. b. the only word for you Is plug. Are you in the big procession, but away behind the band? Plug! 46 PLUG On the cobble, or asphaltum, in the mud or in the sand, Plug! Oh, you 11 hear the story frequently of how some clever man Cut clean across the country, so that now he s in the van; You may think that you will do it, but I don t believe you can, So plug ! Are you singing in the chorus ? Do you want to be a star? Plug! You may think that you re a genius, but I don t believe you are, So plug! Oh, you 11 hear of this or that one who was born without a name, Who slept eleven hours a day and dreamed the way to fame, 47 IMPERTINENT POEMS Who simply could n t push it off, so rapidly it camel But plug. Are you living in the valley? Do you want to reach the height? Plug! Where the hottest sun of day is and the cold est stars of night? Plug! Oh, it may be you re a fool, but if a fool you want to be, If you want to climb above the crowd so every one can see Just how a fool may look when he is at his apogee, Why, plug! Can you make a mile a minute? Do you want to make it two? Plug! 4 8 PLUG Are you good and up against it? Well, the only thing to do Is plug. Oh, you 11 find some marshy places, where the crust is pretty thin, And when you think you re gliding out, you re only sliding in, But the only thing for you to do is think of this and grin, And plug. There s many a word that s prettier that has n t half the cheer Of plug. It may not save you in a day, but try it for a year. Plug! And to show you I am competent to tell you what is what, 49 IMPERTINENT POEMS I assure you that I never yet have made a centre shot, Which surely is an ample demonstration that I ought To plug. CONSCIENCE PIANISSIMO CONSCIENCE PIANISSIMO You are honest as daylight. You re often assured That your word is as good as your note unsecured. We could trust you with millions unaudited, but (Tut, tut! There is always a " but," So don t get excited,) I m pained to per ceive It is seldom I notice you grumble or grieve When the custom-house officer pockets your tip And passes the contraband goods in your grip. You would scorn to be shy on your ante, I m certain, IMPERTINENT POEMS But skinning your Uncle you re rather ex pert in. Well, I m proud that no taint of the sort touches me. (For I Ve never been over the water, you see.) Your yardstick s a yard and your goods are all wool; Your bushel s four pecks and you measure it full. You are proud of your business integrity, yet (Don t fret! There is always a " yet,") I never noticed a sign of distress, or Disturbance in you, when the upright as sessor Has listed your property somewhere about Half what you would take were you selling it out. 52 CONSCIENCE PIANISSIMO You re as true to the world as the world to its axis, But you chuckle to swear off your personal taxes. As for me, I would scorn to do any such thing, (Though I may have considered the question last spring.) You have notions of right. You would count it a sin To cheat a blind billionaire out of a pin. You have a contempt for a pettiness, still (Don t chill! There is always a " still,") I never have noticed you storm with neglect Because the conductor had failed to collect, Or growl that the game was n t run on the square When your boy in the high school paid only half-fare. 53 IMPERTINENT POEMS The voice of your conscience is lusty and audible, But a railroad good heavens ! why, that s only laudable. Of course, / am quite in a different class; For me, it is painful to ride on a pass! 54 YOU WAIT YOU WAIT When you and I were little boys, Afraid of girls and fond of toys, It often chanced that some distress Imposed upon our littleness. Perhaps we entered in the lists Against some boy with faster fists; Perhaps the teacher kept us in Not for our own, but others sin; Perhaps parental wrath was dealt (Against all rules) below the belt; And, smarting in our childish hate, We threatened " Never mind! you wait! I 11 make you sorry some day, when I get to be a big man. Then I well I will." And now that we are little men, It likewise happens, now and then, 55 IMPERTINENT POEMS We have a round or two with Fate And find we re somewhat underweight. Perhaps your services are spurned, Perhaps my poem is returned; Perhaps some hand preempts the peach Just ripening within your reach ; Perhaps some critic gently swats Me somewhere in the vital spots. And then, although we dryly grin, The little voice is heard within ; "I 11 show these fellows some day, when I get to be a big man. Then I well I will." And though a larger place we fill, The Nemesis is working still. The author s favorite book is cursed, The judge s ruling is reversed; The Congressman sits meekly by Unfavored of the Speaker s eye ; The Senator stands down the line 56 YOU WAIT When Cabinet officials dine; The President s knee becomes infirm Before the god, Another Term. And in the inmost heart of each There cries again the boyish speech ; - " It will be different some day when I am a great big man. Ah, then I weU I will" 57 IMPERTINENT POEMS PASS Did somebody give you a pat on the back? Pass it on! Let somebody else have a taste of the smack, Pass it on! If it heightens your courage, or lightens your pack, If it kisses your soul, with a song in the smack, Maybe somebody else has been dressing in black ; Pass it on! God gives you a smile, not to make it a yawn; Pass it on! Did somebody show you a slanderous mess? Pass it by! PASS When a brook s flowing by, will you drink at the cess? Pass it by! Dame Gossip s a wanton, whatever her dress ; Her sire was a lie and her dam was a guess, And a poison is in her polluting caress; Pass it by! Unless you re a porker, keep out of the sty. Pass it by! Did somebody give you an insolent word? Pass it up! T is the creak of a cricket, the pwit of a bird; Pass it up! Shake your fist at the sea! Is its majesty blurred? Blow your breath at the sky! Is its purity slurred? 59 IMPERTINENT POEMS But the shallowest puddle, how easily stirred I Pass it up ! Does the puddle invite you to dip in your cup? Pass it up! 60 MOVE MOVE We are on the main line of a crowded track ; We Ve got to go forward; we can t go back And run the risk of colliding : We must make schedule, not now and again, But always, forever and ever, amen! Or else switch off on a siding. If ever we loaf, like a car in the yard, Does n t somebody bump us, and bump us hard, I wonder? You Ve succeeded in building a pretty fair trade, But can you sit down in the grateful shade And kill time cutting up capers? Or must you hustle and scheme and sweat, 61 IMPERTINENT POEMS Though the shine be fine or the weather be wet, And keep your page in the papers? If ever you fail to be pulling the strings, Are n t some of your rivals around doing things, I wonder? Your a first-class salesman. You know your line; Your house is good and your goods are fine, So you fill your book with orders, But can you get quit of the ball and chain, Or are you in jail on a railroad train, With blue-coated men for warders? If you sent your samples and cut out the trip, Would n t somebody else soon be lugging your grip, I wonder? 62 MOVE You are starred on the bills and are chummy with fame; The man on the corner could tell you your name At three o clock in the morning, But can you depend on the mind of the mob? Can you tell your press-agent to look for a job, Or give your manager warning? Should you lie down to sleep, with your laurels beneath, Would n t somebody else soon be wearing your wreath, I wonder? Oh, I *m willing to work, but I wish I could Not f eeling as if I were " it " for tag, Or last in f ollow-my-leader ; There is only one spot where, I have n t a doubt, 63 IMPERTINENT POEMS Nobody will try to be crowding me out, And that is under the cedar. And even in that place, will Gabriel s trump Come nagging along and be making me jump! I wonder? ARE YOU YOU? ARE YOU YOU? Are you a trailer, or are you a trolley? Are you tagged to a leader through wisdom and folly? Are you Somebody Else, or You? Do you vote by the symbol and swallow it "straight"? Do you pray by the book, do you pay by the rate? Do you tie your cravat by the calendar s date? Do you follow a cue? Are you a writer, or that which is worded? Are you a shepherd, or one of the herded? Which are you a What or a Who? It sounds well to call yourself " one of the flock," 65 IMPERTINENT POEMS But a sheep is a sheep after all. At the block You re nothing but mutton, or possibly stock. Would you flavor a stew? Are you a being and boss of your soul? Or are you a mummy to carry a scroll? Are you Somebody Else, or You? When you finally pass to the heavenly wicket Where Peter the Scrutinous stands on his picket, Are you going to give him a blank for a ticket? Do you think it will do? THE BUBBLE-FLIES THE BUBBLE -FLIES Let me read a homily Concerning an anomaly I view In you. Whatever you are striving for, Whatever you are driving for, T is not alone because you crave To be successful that you slave To swim upon the topmost wave. You care less what your station is, But more what your relation is. To be a bit above the rest! To be upon, or of, the crest! Ah! that is where the troifble lies Which stirs you little bubble-flies. (I sneer these sneers, but just the same I keep my fingers in the game.) 67 IMPERTINENT POEMS See! you have eat-and-drinkables And portables and thinkables And yet You fret. For what? Let s reach the heart of you And see the funny part of you. For what? I find the soul and seed Of it is not your lack or need, Or even merely vulgar greed. Gold? You may have a store of it, But some one else has more of it. Fame? Pretty things are said of you, But some one is ahead of you. Place? You disprize your easy one For some one s high and breezy one. (I smile these smiles to soothe my soul, But squint one eye upon the goal. ) Tell me! what s your capacity Compared to your voracity? 68 THE BUBBLE-FLIES I guess T is less. And so I strike these attitudes And tender you these platitudes ; Not wishing wealth, or spurning it, Not hoarding it, or burning it Is equal to the earning it. Life s race is in the riding it, Not in the word deciding it. And after all is said and uttered The keenest taste is bread-and-buttered. (And yet and yet my palate aches For pallid pie and pasty cakes!) 69 IMPERTINENT POEMS HOW DID YOU DIE ? Did you tackle that trouble that came your way With a resolute heart and cheerful? Or hide your face from the light of day With a craven soul and fearful? Oh, a trouble s a ton, or a trouble s an ounce, Or a trouble is what you make it, And it is n t the fact that you re hurt that counts, But only how did you take it? You are beaten to earth ? Well, well, what s that? Come up with a smiling face. It s nothing against you to fall down flat, But to lie there that s disgrace. 70 HOW DID YOU DIE? The harder you re thrown, why the higher you bounce; Be proud of your blackened eye! It is n t the fact that you re licked that counts ; It s how did you fight and why? And though you be done to the death, what then? If you battled the best you could, If you played your part in the world of men, Why, the Critic will call it good. Death comes with a crawl, or comes with a pounce, And whether he s slow or spry, It is n t the fact that you re dead that counts, But only how did you die? THE END. A nnn n " l