 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE CROWNLESS HAT.
It doubtless had been a respectable hat
That I saw on the edge of the sidewalk to-day,
Though crownless and battered and torn and all that;
And it certainly wasn't the least in my way.
But I reached where it lay with the end of my stick,
And carefully drew the old thing to my feet;
Then I stopped for a moment and gave it a kick,
And landed it out where they crossed o'er the street.
That I saw on the edge of the sidewalk to-day,
Though crownless and battered and torn and all that;
And it certainly wasn't the least in my way.
But I reached where it lay with the end of my stick,
And carefully drew the old thing to my feet;
Then I stopped for a moment and gave it a kick,
And landed it out where they crossed o'er the street.
An elderly gentleman crossing just then,
Well-gloved, neatly booted, and clad in the best—
Apparent no courtlier man among men—
Couldn't let the old head-gear quiescently rest.
He peered through his gold-mounted spectacles down
At the fabric of plush I had tossed in his path;
He twisted his eye-brows of grey to a frown,
And he kicked it, with every appearance of wrath.
Well-gloved, neatly booted, and clad in the best—
Apparent no courtlier man among men—
Couldn't let the old head-gear quiescently rest.
He peered through his gold-mounted spectacles down
At the fabric of plush I had tossed in his path;
He twisted his eye-brows of grey to a frown,
And he kicked it, with every appearance of wrath.
A delicate girl tripping early to school,
With lunch-box and satchel, came past where it lay;
She was thinking, no doubt, of some difficult rule,
Or conning the lesson set down for the day.
She paused for a moment—the hat met her eye—
She bent her head downward, her lip formed a curl;
She cast a quick glance to see no one was nigh,
Then with tip of her toe gave the old hat a whirl.
With lunch-box and satchel, came past where it lay;
She was thinking, no doubt, of some difficult rule,
Or conning the lesson set down for the day.
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She bent her head downward, her lip formed a curl;
She cast a quick glance to see no one was nigh,
Then with tip of her toe gave the old hat a whirl.
Some boys on their errand of mischief were bent,
All eager for what gave a promise of fun,
And as past with their whooping and shouting they went,
The hat crushed and torn met the vision of one.
“Ho! here's a football!” and upward it rose,
Propelled by the force of the little men's feet;
Till, trampled by shoe soles and dented by toes,
It soon found its way to the end of the street.
All eager for what gave a promise of fun,
And as past with their whooping and shouting they went,
The hat crushed and torn met the vision of one.
“Ho! here's a football!” and upward it rose,
Propelled by the force of the little men's feet;
Till, trampled by shoe soles and dented by toes,
It soon found its way to the end of the street.
Meanwhile on the curb-stone there lay an old shoe;
It was rusty and weather-worn, twisted and ripped;
With a rent in the front where a toe had come through,
And a place where the sole from the welt had been stripped.
But no one disturbed it; it lay where 'twas thrown,
Though directly before every passenger's sight:
In kicking the hat was our energy shown,
And solely in that we expended our spite.
It was rusty and weather-worn, twisted and ripped;
With a rent in the front where a toe had come through,
And a place where the sole from the welt had been stripped.
But no one disturbed it; it lay where 'twas thrown,
Though directly before every passenger's sight:
In kicking the hat was our energy shown,
And solely in that we expended our spite.
I puzzled my noddle a reason to find
Why the hat should be spurned and the shoe should escape;
But rejected the first one that came to my mind,
That the cause lay in relative softness and shape.
We pity the boor who is worn out by toil;
But we jeer at Napoleon now he is down:
The shoe was created to press on the soil;
The hat is degraded in losing its crown.
Why the hat should be spurned and the shoe should escape;
But rejected the first one that came to my mind,
That the cause lay in relative softness and shape.
We pity the boor who is worn out by toil;
But we jeer at Napoleon now he is down:
The shoe was created to press on the soil;
The hat is degraded in losing its crown.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |