Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold By "F. Harald Williams"[i.e. F. W. O. Ward]. First Edition |
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“BUB.” |
 | Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold |  |
525
“BUB.”
She is lissom and sprightly
And eager for chat,
While she hops about lightly
And never grows fat;
She's the age of most people, but has not a name
That a parent would hit
On or parson deem fit,
Yet it was not her choosing and she's not to blame;
As a butterfly often springs out of a grub,
So she flashes about in the gaudiest dresses
With scintillant tresses,
Though nicknamed mere “Bub.”
And eager for chat,
While she hops about lightly
And never grows fat;
She's the age of most people, but has not a name
That a parent would hit
On or parson deem fit,
Yet it was not her choosing and she's not to blame;
As a butterfly often springs out of a grub,
So she flashes about in the gaudiest dresses
With scintillant tresses,
Though nicknamed mere “Bub.”
In all winds and all weathers
She fancies a fling,
And you see her fine feathers
In every good thing;
At a feast or a funeral, quarrel or spree,
In the daytime or night
She takes equal delight,
And with each as it comes is prepared to agree;
She can carry her bottle and bear a rough rub
With the stoutest, and likes at your cost to get mellow,
Though her hair is yellow
And she is plain “Bub.”
She fancies a fling,
And you see her fine feathers
In every good thing;
At a feast or a funeral, quarrel or spree,
In the daytime or night
She takes equal delight,
And with each as it comes is prepared to agree;
She can carry her bottle and bear a rough rub
With the stoutest, and likes at your cost to get mellow,
Though her hair is yellow
And she is plain “Bub.”
But she's dismal when sober
And haunted with fears,
And then looks like October
In red leaves and tears;
But a pull at the poison will soon set her up
From her querulous heap,
And the laughters will leap
Once again as she flies to the kiss or the cup;
Then her mirth is too noisy for neighbours to snub,
And she reads with an infinite zest the dark riddle
Of life to the fiddle,
Dear bibulous “Bub.”
And haunted with fears,
And then looks like October
In red leaves and tears;
But a pull at the poison will soon set her up
From her querulous heap,
And the laughters will leap
Once again as she flies to the kiss or the cup;
Then her mirth is too noisy for neighbours to snub,
And she reads with an infinite zest the dark riddle
Of life to the fiddle,
Dear bibulous “Bub.”
526
She is leggy and limber
And fond of a dance,
As if cork were her timber
And days all romance;
But she keeps a warm corner at heart for the Jews
With their noses and bags
And researches in rags,
And for one half a week she held temperate views;
Yes, for him like the cynic she lived in a tub,
Till at least in an hour of presumptuous boasting
She thought just of toasting
Her goodness—poor “Bub.”
And fond of a dance,
As if cork were her timber
And days all romance;
But she keeps a warm corner at heart for the Jews
With their noses and bags
And researches in rags,
And for one half a week she held temperate views;
Yes, for him like the cynic she lived in a tub,
Till at least in an hour of presumptuous boasting
She thought just of toasting
Her goodness—poor “Bub.”
| Matin Bells and Scarlet and Gold | |