Benjamin’s song
He sings all day long,
Though his voice is not strong:
He hoarsely holloas
More or less as follows:—
Button boxes
Never have locks-es,
For the keys would soon disappear.
But here’s a linen button
With a smut on,
And a big bone button
With a cut on,
A pearly and a fancy
Of small significancy,
And the badges of a Fireman and a Fusilier.
Which song he’ll alternate
With sounds like a Turkish hubble-bubble
Smoked at a furious rate,
The words are scarcely intelligible:—
(Prestissimo) Needles and ribbons and packets of pins,
Prints and chintz and odd bodikins,
They’d never mind whether
You laid ’em together
Or one from the other in pockets and tins.
For packets of pins and ribbons and needles
Or odd bodikins and chintz and prints,
Being birds of a feather.
Would huddle together
Like minnows on billows or pennies in mints.
He’ll learn to sing more prettily
When you take him out to Italy
On your honeymoon,
(Oh come back soon!)
To Florence or to Rome,
The prima donnas’ home,
To Padua or to Genoa
Where tenors all sing tra-la-la....
Good-bye, Winifred,
Bless your heart, Ben.
Come back happy
And safe agen.
AGAINST CLOCK AND COMPASSES
“Beauty dwindles into shadow,
Beauty dies, preferred by Fate,
Past the rescue of bold thought.
Sentries drowsed,” they say, “at Beauty’s gate.”
“Time duteous to his hour-glass,
Time with unerring sickle,
Garners to a land remote
Where your vows of true love are proved fickle.”
“Love chill upon her forehead,
Love fading from her cheek,
Love dulled in either eye,
With voice of love,” they say, “no more to speak.”