Rank musicians torture Ragtime ballads vile, But we walk serenely Down the odorous aisle.
We forgive the squalor And the boom and squeal For the Great Queen flashes From the moving reel.
Just a prim blonde stranger In her early day, Hiding brilliant weapons, Too averse to play, Then she burst upon us Dancing through the night.
Oh, her maiden radiance, Veils and roses white.
With new powers, yet cautious, Not too smart or skilled, That first flash of dancing Wrought the thing she willed: --Mobs of us made noble By her strong desire, By her white, uplifting, Royal romance-fire.
Though the tin piano Snarls its tango rude, Though the chairs are shaky And the dramas crude, Solemn are her motions, Stately are her wiles, Filling oafs with wisdom, Saving souls with smiles;'Mid the restless actors She is rich and slow.
She will stand like marble, She will pause and glow, Though the film is twitching, Keep a peaceful reign, Ruler of her passion, Ruler of our pain!
SunshineFor a Very Little Girl, Not a Year Old.Catharine Frazee Wakefield.
The sun gives not directly The coal, the diamond crown;Not in a special basket Are these from Heaven let down.
The sun gives not directly The plough, man's iron friend;Not by a path or stairway Do tools from Heaven descend.
Yet sunshine fashions all things That cut or burn or fly;And corn that seems upon the earth Is made in the hot sky.
The gravel of the roadbed, The metal of the gun, The engine of the airship Trace somehow from the sun.
And so your soul, my lady --
(Mere sunshine, nothing more) --
Prepares me the contraptions I work with or adore.
Within me cornfields rustle, Niagaras roar their way, Vast thunderstorms and rainbows Are in my thought to-day.
Ten thousand anvils sound there By forges flaming white, And many books I read there, And many books I write;And freedom's bells are ringing, And bird-choirs chant and fly --The whole world works in me to-day And all the shining sky,Because of one small lady Whose smile is my chief sun.
She gives not any gift to me Yet all gifts, giving one....
Amen.
An Apology for the Bottle VolcanicSometimes I dip my pen and find the bottle full of fire, The salamanders flying forth I cannot but admire.
It's Etna, or Vesuvius, if those big things were small, And then 'tis but itself again, and does not smoke at all.
And so my blood grows cold.I say, "The bottle held but ink, And, if you thought it otherwise, the worser for your think."And then, just as I throw my scribbled paper on the floor, The bottle says, "Fe, fi, fo, fum," and steams and shouts some more.
O sad deceiving ink, as bad as liquor in its way --All demons of a bottle size have pranced from you to-day, And seized my pen for hobby-horse as witches ride a broom, And left a trail of brimstone words and blots and gobs of gloom.
And yet when I am extra good and say my prayers at night, And mind my ma, and do the chores, and speak to folks polite, My bottle spreads a rainbow-mist, and from the vapor fine Ten thousand troops from fairyland come riding in a line.
I've seen them on their chargers race around my study chair, They opened wide the window and rode forth upon the air.
The army widened as it went, and into myriads grew, O how the lances shimmered, how the silvery trumpets blew!
When Gassy Thompson Struck it RichHe paid a Swede twelve bits an hour Just to invent a fancy style To spread the celebration paint So it would show at least a mile.
Some things they did I will not tell.
They're not quite proper for a rhyme.
But I WILL say Yim Yonson Swede Did sure invent a sunflower time.
One thing they did that I can tell And not offend the ladies here: --They took a goat to Simp's Saloon And made it take a bath in beer.
That ENTERprise took MANagement.
They broke a wash-tub in the fray.
But mister goat was bathed all right And bar-keep Simp was, too, they say.
They wore girls' pink straw hats to church And clucked like hens.They surely did.
They bought two HOtel frying pans And in them down the mountain slid.
They went to Denver in good clothes, And kept Burt's grill-room wide awake, And cut about like jumping-jacks, And ordered seven-dollar steak.
They had the waiters whirling round Just sweeping up the smear and smash.
They tried to buy the State-house flag.
They showed the Janitor the cash.
And old Dan Tucker on a toot, Or John Paul Jones before the breeze, Or Indians eating fat fried dog, Were not as happy babes as these.
One morn, in hills near Cripple-creek With cheerful swears the two awoke.
The Swede had twenty cents, all right.
But Gassy Thompson was clean broke.
Rhymes for GlorianaI.The Doll upon the Topmost Bough This doll upon the topmost bough, This playmate-gift, in Christmas dress, Was taken down and brought to me One sleety night most comfortless.
Her hair was gold, her dolly-sash Was gray brocade, most good to see.
The dear toy laughed, and I forgot The ill the new year promised me.
II.On Suddenly Receiving a Curl Long Refused Oh, saucy gold circle of fairyland silk --Impudent, intimate, delicate treasure:
A noose for my heart and a ring for my finger: --Here in my study you sing me a measure.
Whimsy and song in my little gray study!
Words out of wonderland, praising her fineness, Touched with her pulsating, delicate laughter, Saying, "The girl is all daring and kindness!"Saying, "Her soul is all feminine gameness, Trusting her insights, ardent for living;She would be weeping with me and be laughing, A thoroughbred, joyous receiving and giving!"III.On Receiving One of Gloriana's Letters Your pen needs but a ruffle To be Pavlova whirling.
It surely is a scalawag A-scamping down the page.
A pretty little May-wind The morning buds uncurling.
And then the white sweet Russian, The dancer of the age.
Your pen's the Queen of Sheba, Such serious questions bringing, That merry rascal Solomon Would show a sober face: --And then again Pavlova To set our spirits singing, The snowy-swan bacchante All glamour, glee and grace.
