What belt did Homer ever win?
Fine chance that dub would have to-day
To cash in on the easy tin
Who never put his man away;
And Milton had the nerve to try
To make a living out of verse,
Who never closed a rival’s eye
Or split the big end of a purse.
No wonder in the days of yore
Those ancient artists had no chance
To chew a steak—or that they wore
Big, healthy patches on their pants;
In place of farming out a crop
Of rhyme and meter without flaw,
They should have learned to throw a drop
Or slam a wallop to the jaw.
THE CLIMAX OF FAN JOY.
There was cheering in the grandstand when Bill Bradley hit to right,
And the bleachers whooped and clamored in a chorus of delight;
And when the twirler lost control and passed the next two “up,”
The wine of human happiness brimmed swiftly o’er the cup.
The bases full, with two men out, and Larry at the bat.
O, can you wonder that each fan should stand and wave his hat?
Or can you wonder that the yelp should percolate the gloam,
With Larry waiting anxiously to bring the runners home?
The pitcher whirls and cuts one loose—a brawny gent is he—
And, like a cannon shot, it shoots above the batsman’s knee;
He swings—and lo! from every throat of that excited crowd
There comes a shriek of fiendish joy—protracted long and loud.
The greatest laugh of all crowns a scrappy game of ball
When a foul-tip cracks the umpire on the knee.