A little book of tribune verse A number of hitherto uncollected poems, grave and gay |
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THE POET'S THEME. |
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 | A little book of tribune verse |  |
93
THE POET'S THEME.
If I could sing as the angels sing
In heaven above,
I would raise my voice to a heavenly thing,
And that is love.
But my voice is harsh and my petted sense
Is of humble stripe,
And oh! it's a lowly theme I choose,
The which is tripe.
In heaven above,
I would raise my voice to a heavenly thing,
And that is love.
But my voice is harsh and my petted sense
Is of humble stripe,
And oh! it's a lowly theme I choose,
The which is tripe.
The world may laugh and the world deride,
Ah, well, so be,
I take it stewed and I take it fried,
It stays by me,
It fills my soul with a strange delight,
As well my maw,
And I see in my dreams the livelong night,
My mother-in-law.
Ah, well, so be,
I take it stewed and I take it fried,
It stays by me,
It fills my soul with a strange delight,
As well my maw,
And I see in my dreams the livelong night,
My mother-in-law.
I am chased by bulls and gnawed by rats,
Down chasms falling,
Mine ears are filled with the noise of cats
Like demons squalling,
I am drowned and hung and burned to death,
Dunned by a tailor,
A witch befouls me with her breath
And loathsome squalor.
Down chasms falling,
Mine ears are filled with the noise of cats
Like demons squalling,
I am drowned and hung and burned to death,
Dunned by a tailor,
A witch befouls me with her breath
And loathsome squalor.
94
Bah! sing if ye will, in rounded rhymes,
Each varying passion,
But for regular, thrilling, exciting times,
In cold blood fashion,
Give me the scenes of blood, of gore,
Of fiendish stripe,
Of goblins flitting from ceiling to floor,
Aye, give me tripe!
Each varying passion,
But for regular, thrilling, exciting times,
In cold blood fashion,
Give me the scenes of blood, of gore,
Of fiendish stripe,
Of goblins flitting from ceiling to floor,
Aye, give me tripe!
March 11th, 1882.
| A little book of tribune verse | |