A line-o'-verse or two Part 2

"TREASURE ISLAND"

Comes little lady, a book in hand, A light in her eyes that I understand, And her cheeks aglow from the faery breeze That sweeps across the uncharted seas.

She gives me the book, and her word of praise A ton of critical thought outweighs.

"I've finished it, daddie!"--a sigh thereat.

"Are there any more books in the world like that?"

No, little lady. I grieve to say That of all the books in the world to-day There's not another that's quite the same As this magic book with the magic name.

Volumes there be that are pure delight, Ancient and yellowed or new and bright; But--little and thin, or big and fat-- There are no more books in the world like that.

And what, little lady, would I not give For the wonderful world in which you live!

What have I garnered one-half as true As the tales t.i.tania whispers you?

Ah, late we learn that the only truth Was that which we found in the Book of Youth.

Profitless others, and stale, and flat;-- There are no more books in the world like that.

A BALLADE OF SPRING'S UNREST

Up in the woodland where Spring Comes as a laggard, the breeze Whispers the pines that the King, Fallen, has yielded the keys To his White Palace and flees Northward o'er mountain and dale.

Speed then the hour that frees!

Ho, for the pack and the trail!

Northward my fancy takes wing, Restless am I, ill at ease.

Pleasures the city can bring Lose now their power to please.

Barren, all barren, are these, Town life's a tedious tale; That cup is drained to the lees-- Ho, for the pack and the trail!

Ho, for the morning I sling Pack at my back, and with knees Brus.h.i.+ng a thoroughfare, fling Into the green mysteries: One with the birds and the bees, One with the squirrel and quail, Night, and the stream's melodies-- Ho, for the pack and the trail!

_L'Envoi_

Pictures and music and teas, Theaters--books even--stale.

Ho, for the smell of the trees!

Ho, for the pack and the trail!

WHY?

Why, when the sun is gold, The weather fine, The air (this phrase is old) Like Gascon wine;--

Why, when the leaves are red, And yellow, too, And when (as has been said) The skies are blue;--

Why, when all things promote One's peace and joy,-- A joy that is (to quote) Without alloy;--

Why, when a man's well off, Happy and gay, _Why_ must he go play golf And spoil his day!

THE RIME OF THE CLARK STREET CABLE

(_Now happily extinct._)

Twas in a vault beneath the street, In the trench of the traction rope, That I found a guy with a fishy eye And a think tank filled with dope.

His hair was matted, his face was black, And matted and black was he; And I heard this wight in the vault recite, "In a singular minor key":

"Oh, I am the guy with the fishy eye And the think tank filled with dope.

My work is to watch the beautiful botch That's known as the Clark Street Rope.

"I pipes my eye as the rope goes by For every danger spot.

If I spies one out I gives a shout, And we puts in another knot.

"Them knots is all like brothers to me, And I loves 'em, one and all."

The muddy guy with the fishy eye A muddy tear let fall.

"There goes a knot we tied last week, There's one what we tied to-day; And there's a patch was hard to reach, And caused six hours' delay.

"Two hundred seventy-nine, all told, And I knows their history; And I'm most attached to a break we patched In the winter of 'eighty-three.

"For every time that knot comes round It sings out, 'Howdy, Bill!

We'll walk 'em home to-night, old man, From here to the Ferris Wheel.

"'We'll walk 'em in the rush hours, Bill, A swearing company, As we've walked 'em, Bill, since I was tied, In the winter of 'eighty-three.'"

The muddy guy with the fishy eye Let fall another tear.

"Them knots is wife and child to me; I've known 'em forty year.

"For I am the guy with the fishy eye And the think tank filled with dope, Whose work is to watch the lovely botch That's known as the Clark Street Rope."

MISS LEGION

She is hotfoot after Cultyure, She pursues it with a club.

She breathes a heavy atmosphere Of literary flub.

No literary shrine so far But she is there to kneel; But-- Her favorite line of reading Is O. Meredith's "Lucille."

Of course she's up on pictures-- Pa.s.ses for a connoisseur.