L'ENVOI
Take thou my verses, I pray, King,
Letting my guerdon be fair.
Even a bard must be making
All that the traffic will bear.
To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing The Conning Tower
William, it was, I think, three years ago—
As I recall, one cool October morning—
(You have The Tribune files; I think they'll show
I gave you warning).
I said, in well-selected words and terse,
In phrases balanced, yet replete with power,
That I should cease to pen the prose and verse
Known as The Tower.
That I should stop this Labyrinth of Light—
Though stopping make the planet leaden-hearted—
Unless you stopped the well-known Schrecklichkeit
Your nation started.
I printed it in type that you could read;
My paragraphs were thewed, my rhymes were sinewed.
You paid, I judge from what ensued, no heed ...
The war continued.
And though my lines with fortitude were fraught,
Although my words were strong, and stripped of stuffing,
You, William, thought—oh, yes, you did—you thought
That I was bluffing.
You thought that I would fail to see it through!
You thought that, at the crux of things, I'd cower!
How little, how imperfectly you knew
The Conning Tower!
You'll miss the column at the break of day.
I have no fear that I shall be forgotten.
You'll miss the daily privilege to say:
"That stuff is rotten!"
Or else—as sometimes has occurred—when I
Have chanced upon a lucky line to blunder,
You'll miss the precious privilege to cry:
"That bird's a wonder!"
Well, William, when your people cease to strafe,
When you have put an end to all this war stuff,
When all the world is reasonably safe,
I'll write some more stuff.
And when you miss the quip and wanton wile,
And learn you can't endure the Towerless season,
O William, I shall not be petty ... I'll
Listen to reason.
To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming The Conning Tower
Well, William, since I wrote you long ago—
As I recall, one cool October morning—
(I have The Tribune files. They clearly show
I gave you warning.)
Since when I penned that consequential ode,
The world has seen a vast amount of slaughter,
And under many a Gallic bridge has flowed
A lot of water.
I said that when your people ceased to strafe,
That when you'd put an end to all this war stuff,
And all the world was reasonably safe
I'd write some more stuff;
That when you missed the quip and wanton wile
And learned you couldn't bear a Towerless season,
I quote: "O, I shall not be petty.... I'll
Listen to reason."
Labuntur anni, not to say Eheu
Fugaces! William, by my shoulders glistening!
I have the final laugh, for it was you
Who did the listening.
Thoughts on the Cosmos
I
I do not hold with him who thinks
The world is jonahed by a jinx;
That everything is sad and sour,
And life a withered hothouse flower.
II
I hate the Pollyanna pest
Who says that All Is for the Best,
And hold in high, unhidden scorn
Who sees the Rose, nor feels the Thorn.
III
I do not like extremists who
Are like the pair in (I) and (II);
But how I hate the wabbly gink,
Like me, who knows not what to think!
On Environment
I used to think that this environ-
Ment talk was all a lot of guff;
Place mattered not with Keats and Byron
Stuff.
If I have thoughts that need disclosing,
Bright be the day or hung with gloom,
I'll write in Heaven or the composing-
Room.
Times are when with my nerves a-tingle,
Joyous and bright the songs I sing;
Though, gay, I can't dope out a single
Thing.
And yet, by way of illustration,
The gods my graying head anoint ...
I wrote this piece at Inspiration
Point.
The Ballad of the Thoughtless Waiter
I saw him lying cold and dead
Who yesterday was whole.
"Why," I inquired, "hath he expired?
And why hath fled his soul?"
"But yesterday," his comrade said,
"All health was his, and strength;
And this is why he came to die—
If I may speak at length.
"But yesternight at dinnertime
At a not unknown café,
He had a frugal meal as you
Might purchase any day.
"The check for his so simple fare
Was only eighty cents,
And a dollar bill with a right good will
Came from his opulence.
"The waiter brought him twenty cents.
'Twas only yesternight
That he softly said who now is dead
'Oh, keep it. 'At's a' right.'
"And the waiter plainly uttered 'Thanks,'
With no hint of scorn or pride;
And my comrade's heart gave a sudden start
And my comrade up and died."
Now waiters overthwart this land,
In tearooms and in dives,
Mute be your lips whatever the tips,
And save your customers' lives.
Rus Vs. Urbs
Whene'er the penner of this pome
Regards a lovely country home,
He sighs, in words not insincere,
"I think I'd like to live out here."
And when the builder of this ditty
Returns to this pulsating city,
The perpetrator of this pome
Yearns for a lovely country home.
"I'm Out of the Army Now"
When first I doffed my olive drab,
I thought, delightedly though mutely,
"Henceforth I shall have pleasure ab-
Solutely."
Dull with the drudgery of war,
Sick of the very name of fighting,
I yearned, I thought, for something more
Exciting.
The rainbow be my guide, quoth I;
My suit shall be a brave and proud one
Gay-hued my socks; and oh, my tie
A loud one!
For me the theatre and the dance;
Primrose the path I would be wending;
For me the roses of romance
Unending.
Those were my inner thoughts that day
(And those of many another million)
When once again I should be a
Civilian.
I would not miss the old o. d.;
(Monotony I didn't much like)
I would not miss the reveille,
And such like.
I don't ... And do I now enjoy
My walks along the primrose way so?
Is civil life the life? Oh, boy,
I'll say so.
"Oh Man!"
Man hath harnessed the lightning;
Man hath soared to the skies;
Mountain and hill are clay to his will;
Skilful he is, and wise.
Sea to sea hath he wedded,
Canceled the chasm of space,
Given defeat to cold and heat;
Splendour is his, and grace.
His are the topless turrets;
His are the plumbless pits;
Earth is slave to his architrave,
Heaven is thrall to his wits.
And so in the golden future,
He who hath dulled the storm
(As said above) may make a glove
That'll keep my fingers warm.