AND JUST THEN
DON’T you remember when the ship, the pirate ship, that flew
The black flag with the gleaming skull, in the fierce gale that blew,
Went on the rocks? I think it was upon the Spanish Main;
The sails were torn to tatters and there fell a driving rain,
The air was pierced with cries of fear, shocks followed upon shocks,
“Come, man the lifeboats,” called the mate, “the ship is on the rocks!”
And just when lightnings rent the air and all the sky was red,
Your mother said, “You’ve read enough, my boy! It’s time for bed!”
Don’t you remember when the score stood six to six, until
The very ending of the game and every heart stood still?
The Red Sox pitcher took his place, while not a watcher stirred,
A hit, a pass, an error and a runner got to third.
Don’t you remember, as you read, you almost heard the crack
As bat met ball and you could feel cold chills go down your back?
And just as you had but a page to find which players led,
Your mother said, “You’ve read enough, my boy! It’s time for bed!”
Don’t you remember when Wild Bill and Deadshot Dick, the scout,
Were prisoned in the rocky cave with redskins all about,
With all their ammunition gone, nor food to eat, as they
Had been a thousand times before, but always got away?
The war-whoops rang out fierce and shrill. Said Dick, “I have a plan;
We will escape or sell our lives as dearly as we can.”
And just as you turned o’er the page to see what plans they’d lay,
The clock struck nine—your mother came and took the book away.
Oh, Captain Kidd, it seemed to me when you went on the rock
You always timed the hour of it to be at nine o’clock!
And Dick, the scout, the redskins came and fell on you with rage
Just when my boyhood bed time came and I turned down the page!
And Spike, the wizard of the slab, who mowed the batsmen down
Like blades of grass, the hero of the little country town,
You seemed to time the crisis of your fiercest game, someway,
At nine o’clock, when Mother came and took the book away!
AFTERWARD
I’M glad I was always so good to her;
I was just up there in the nursery
Picking up things—you know—that were
Left strewn about as carelessly
As a child will do when she’s called from play;
I picked them up with a mist and blur
In my eyes, and I laid them all away—
I’m glad I was always so good to her.
And many’s the picture that came to me,
That came to me o’er a Teddy bear
Or a doll or a whole tin infantry
Arrayed in a battle column there;
Picture on picture of girls and girls
(One year and two years and three) that were;
Of pinafores and blue frocks and curls—
I’m glad I was always so good to her.
Dreams on dreams and they ride me down,
Column and phalanx, and voices call;
And grasses grow green and come sere and brown,
And leaves bud, blossom and blow and fall;
She had been six now—and seven—and ten—
So tall—and so tall—how fair they were,
How fair they were and they would have been,
Those lost ones—I’m glad I was good to her.