To Myrtilla
Twelve fleeting years ago my Myrt,
(Ehu fugaces! maybe more)
I wrote of the directoire skirt
You wore.
Ten years ago, Myrtilla mine,
The hobble skirt engaged my pen.
That was, I calculate, in Nine-
Teen Ten.
The polo coat, the feathered lid,
The phony furs of yesterfall,
The current shoe--I tried to kid
Them all.
Vain every vitriolic bit,
Silly all my sulphuric song.
Rube Goldberg said a bookful; it
'S all wrong.
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poem by Franklin P. Adams
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What Flavour?
Horace: Book III, Ode 13
"O fons Bandisiæ, splendidior vitro---"
Worthy of flowers and syrups sweet,
O fountain of Bandusian onyx,
To-morrow shall a goatling's bleat
Mix with the sizz of thy carbonics.
A kid whose budding horns portend
A life of love and war--but vainly!
For thee his sanguine life shall end--
He'll spill his blood, to put it plainly.
And never shalt thou feel the heat
That blazes in the days of sirius,
But men shall quaff thy soda sweet,
And girls imbibe thy drinks delirious.
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Despite
The terrible things that the Governor
Of Kansas says alarm me;
And yet somehow we won the war
In spite of the Regular Army.
The things they say of the old N.G.
Are bitter and cruel and hard;
And yet we walloped the enemy
In spite of the National Guard.
Too late, too late, was our work begun;
Too late were our forces sent;
And yet we smeared the horrible Hun
In spite of the President.
"What a frightful flivver this Baker is!"
Cried many a senator;
And yet we handed the Kaiser his
In spite of the Sec. of War.
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The Ballad of Justifiable Homicide
They brought to me his mangled corpse
And I feared lest I should swing.
"O tell me, tell me,--and make it brief--
Why hast thou done this thing?
"Had this man robbed the starving poor
Or lived a gunman's life,
Had he set fire to cottages,
Or run off with thy wife?"
"He hath not robbed the starving poor
Or lived a gunman's life;
He hath set fire to no cottage,
Nor run off with my wife.
"Ye ask me such a question that
It now my lips unlocks:
I learned he was the man who planned
The second balcony box."
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To an Aged Cut-Up
Horace: Book III, Ode 15
"Uxor pauperis Ibyci,
Tandem nequitiæ fige modum tuæ--"
IN CHLORIN
Dear Mrs. Ibycus, accept a little sound advice,
Your manners and your speech are overbold;
To chase around the sporty way you do is far from nice;
Believe me, darling, you are growing old.
Now Pholoë may fool around (she dances like a doe!)
A débutante has got to think of men;
But you were twenty-seven over thirty years ago--
You ought to be asleep at half-past ten.
O Chloris, cut the ragging and the roses and the rum--
Delete the drink, or better, chop the booze!
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A Perfect Woman Nobly Planned
(The man who wants the perfect wife should marry a
'stock-size.' She comes cheaper.-_London Chronicle_.)
Ah, Myrtilla, woe and dear me!
Lackadaydee and alas!
What is this, I greatly fear me,
That has come to pass?
Craving, as I do, perfection,
Loathing anything like flaws,
I must raise a slight objection
To your building laws.
You are five one-and-a-quarter,
And your girth is thirty-three-
Myrtie, you're a little shorter
Than you ought to be.
It is far from my intentions
Your proportions to describe,
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Fifty-Fifty
For something like eleven summers
I've written things that aimed to teach
Our careless mealy-mouthéd mummers
To be more sedulous of speech.
So sloppy of articulation
So limping and so careless they,
About distinct enunciation,
Often I don't know what they say.
The other night an able actor,
Declaiming of some lines I heard,
I hailed a public benefactor,
As I distinguished every word.
But, oh! the subtle disappointment!
Thorn on the celebrated rose
And fly within the well-known ointment!
(Allusions everybody knows).
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War and Peace
"This war is a terrible thing," he said,
"With its countless numbers of needless dead;
A futile warfare it seems to me,
Fought for no principle I can see.
Alas, that thousands of hearts should bleed
For naught but a tyrant's boundless greed!"
* * * *
Said the wholesale grocer, in righteous mood,
As he went to adulterate salable food.
Spake as follows the merchant king:
"Isn't this war a disgusting thing?
Heartless, cruel, and useless, too;
It doesn't seem that it can be true.
Think of the misery, want and fear!
We ought to be grateful we've no war here.
* * * *
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An Ultimatum To Myrtilla
Ah, Myrtilla mine, you said-
And your tone was earnest, very-
You would never deck your head
With this vernal millinery.
Myrt, to mince no words, you lied;
Oh, that I should live to know it!
You that are my nearly-bride;
I that am your nearly-poet!
For I saw the awful lid
You had on at 10 this morning;
Myrt, it was a merrywid,
Spite of my decisive warning.
Still, I can forgive you that;
Though the thing look ne'er so silly;
I will overlook the hat
If you promise this, Myrtillie:
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poem by Franklin P. Adams
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The Shepherd's Resolution
If she be not so to me,
What care I how fair she be?
BY OUR OWN JEROME D. KERN, AUTHOR OF "YOU'RE HERE AND I'M HERE"
I don't care if a girl is fair
If she doesn't seem beautiful to me,
I won't waste away if she's fair as day,
Or prettier than meadows in the month of May;
As long as you are there for me to see,
I don't care and you don't care
How many others are beyond compare--
You're the only one I like to have around.
I won't mind if she's everything combined,
If she doesn't seem wonderful to me,
I won't fret if she's everybody's pet,
Or considered by all as the one best bet;
As long as you and I are only we,
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