 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
101
ELECTING FATE.
Two pieces of ice in the ice house lay
Waiting the dawn of another day,
And as they lingered there side by side,
“Oh, tell me brother, since we must die,
What fate would you choose for the by and by?”
The giddiest piece of the couple cried.
Waiting the dawn of another day,
And as they lingered there side by side,
“Oh, tell me brother, since we must die,
What fate would you choose for the by and by?”
The giddiest piece of the couple cried.
“Oh, I am fondly and gently bred,”
The other ice cake sighing said,
“And I would melt in a glass of tea
With a maiden stirring me to and fro
And mixing me up with sugar I trow,
Such, I pray, may my ending be.”
The other ice cake sighing said,
“And I would melt in a glass of tea
With a maiden stirring me to and fro
And mixing me up with sugar I trow,
Such, I pray, may my ending be.”
The other cake for a moment smiled,
“I always have been a wayward child
And it strikes me now I would like to float
In a brandy punch or a whisky sour,
Beguiling some wretched, mortal hour,
And cooling some thirsty mortal's throat.”
“I always have been a wayward child
And it strikes me now I would like to float
In a brandy punch or a whisky sour,
Beguiling some wretched, mortal hour,
And cooling some thirsty mortal's throat.”
The hours passed on and the days went by
Till finally came their time to die,
And the gentle piece of ice expired
In a bowl of tea, while the other piece,
In rare libation found surcease,
Each one perished as each desired.
Till finally came their time to die,
And the gentle piece of ice expired
In a bowl of tea, while the other piece,
In rare libation found surcease,
Each one perished as each desired.
102
What of the maiden who quaffed the tea?
They planted her under a willow tree,
And the mourners come and the mourners go,
Ice cold tea was the dreadful cause,
Nature avenged her outraged laws,
Neuralgia wielded the deadly blow.
They planted her under a willow tree,
And the mourners come and the mourners go,
Ice cold tea was the dreadful cause,
Nature avenged her outraged laws,
Neuralgia wielded the deadly blow.
And the man—oh, the man of the whisky sour,
He's living and prospers this very hour,
And he struck it rich in a Gunnison mine.
Oh, it's always the same with ice and men,
It's nice to be giddy now and then,
Take your death in tea and your life in wine.
He's living and prospers this very hour,
And he struck it rich in a Gunnison mine.
Oh, it's always the same with ice and men,
It's nice to be giddy now and then,
Take your death in tea and your life in wine.
August 7th, 1881.
| A little book of tribune verse | |