WHEN THE CLOCK STRIKES SIX.
By McLandburgh Wilson.
I hold a modest clerkship this side the river Styx,
Also a cheap alarm-clock to waken me at six.
I dream I dwell in marble halls
Worth millions cool in cash;
Huge diamonds glitter on the walls
Where precious jewels flash;
A stranger wants to buy the place,
I take his offer up apace—
The
Clock
Strikes
Six!
I put ten dollars on a horse,
They say he cannot win;
Like lightning round the muddy course
I watch him swiftly spin.
A thousand if he keeps the pace!
Hurrah! My horse has won the race—
The
Clock
Strikes
Six!
The game is poker, and I hold
Three aces in my hand;
The jackpot, brimming full of gold,
Contains a fortune grand.
I draw a card with stolid face;
Behold, it is the other ace—
The
Clock
Strikes
Six!
A girl with eyes of heaven’s blue
Looks tenderly in mine.
The world seems made for just us two,
The pleasure is divine.
I hold her fast in my embrace,
I stoop to kiss her lovely face—
The
Clock
Strikes
Six!
Small wonder that when fortune plays me such scurvy tricks
I curse the cheap alarm-clock that wakens me at six.
New York Times.