 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
514
PESTS.
The Italian Count in his velvet jacket,
Who grinds the organ before my door,
What does he care that the wheezy racket
Is making me long for a cup of gore?
On a mental rack my ears he stretches;
He harrows my soul with his dreary drone,
And grins when his funny old monkey fetches
The dime that I give to be let alone.
Who grinds the organ before my door,
What does he care that the wheezy racket
Is making me long for a cup of gore?
On a mental rack my ears he stretches;
He harrows my soul with his dreary drone,
And grins when his funny old monkey fetches
The dime that I give to be let alone.
A rap at the door and a peddler asking
His stock to diminish of pins and thread—
A shallow device with the aim of masking
The begging of money to gain him bread.
I rid me of him by a small disbursement;
He pockets a profit of nine in ten:
And then, with a scowl for a silent curse meant,
Sit down and return to my book again.
His stock to diminish of pins and thread—
A shallow device with the aim of masking
The begging of money to gain him bread.
I rid me of him by a small disbursement;
He pockets a profit of nine in ten:
And then, with a scowl for a silent curse meant,
Sit down and return to my book again.
I settle me down with intent to labor,
But a thundering knock, and I open the door;
My visitor says, “You'll excuse me, neighbor,
I very much hate to implore or bore;
But I have no money and have not swallowed
Of victuals a meal for a week, I think.”
Another small coin has its fellows followed;
'Twill get him a schooner of beer to drink.
But a thundering knock, and I open the door;
My visitor says, “You'll excuse me, neighbor,
I very much hate to implore or bore;
But I have no money and have not swallowed
Of victuals a meal for a week, I think.”
Another small coin has its fellows followed;
'Twill get him a schooner of beer to drink.
A tap and I rise with a frowning forehead,
A d, with a dash, is upon my tongue;
I feel like an ogre, as grim and horrid;
But, lo! 'tis a woman both fair and young,
I smoothen my wrinkles and bow politely,
And “how can I serve her” I ask to know;
She enters and says in a manner sprightly,
“I have a desirable book to show.”
A d, with a dash, is upon my tongue;
I feel like an ogre, as grim and horrid;
But, lo! 'tis a woman both fair and young,
515
And “how can I serve her” I ask to know;
She enters and says in a manner sprightly,
“I have a desirable book to show.”
I may not snub and I must not kiss her,
I cannot be rude to a girl well-bred,
So the easiest method to quick dismiss her
Is buying a book that will ne'er be read.
I bow her away and again am seated,
Around me the office is hushed and still—
A knock and my work for the day defeated,
For here is a dun with a tailor's bill.
I cannot be rude to a girl well-bred,
So the easiest method to quick dismiss her
Is buying a book that will ne'er be read.
I bow her away and again am seated,
Around me the office is hushed and still—
A knock and my work for the day defeated,
For here is a dun with a tailor's bill.
I'll get me some paper a foot square nearly;
I'll nail it up at the entrance here;
And write on it boldly as well as clearly:
“Has gone to Alaska to stay a year.”
Or else, on their sympathy kind imposing,
Write on it whatever despair suggests,
A border of mourning the words inclosing:
“Dead and was buried because of pests.”
I'll nail it up at the entrance here;
And write on it boldly as well as clearly:
“Has gone to Alaska to stay a year.”
Or else, on their sympathy kind imposing,
Write on it whatever despair suggests,
A border of mourning the words inclosing:
“Dead and was buried because of pests.”
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |