The Bee's Bayonet Part 8

THE CONQUEST OF THE SUN

The Morning Sun, with golden dart, Crept to Milady's bed; And as he drew the screens apart A halo crowned her head.

Such radiance he'd never viewed; Enraptured, he surveyed Her virgin charms: beat.i.tude!

He stooped and kissed the maid.

Entranced because her splendor seemed To dazzle as it shone, He conjured all his wiles and beamed Her burning cheeks upon.

And then she woke, Milady fair, Enchanted by his art, To find, 'midst fires a slumb'ring there, His dart had pierced her heart.

And so the Morning Sun can gain Milady when he tries, But Midnight Sons must lose, 'tis plain, Because they're late to rise.

OWED TO A ROACH

O, Thou, who thru the sink doth blithely go; (O, Little Roach, how could you _sink_ so low?) Who pipeth all your kin from kitchens near Wherever crumbs of comfort may appear; Who layeth siege, in mural cracks or trenches, Where grease spots lure or rampant be the stenches; Who hideth in the dough when bread is rising,-- I ask you to a Feast, of my devising,-- To eat these _powders_, 'round the plumbing placed, Until your glutted carca.s.s be effaced.

O, Little Roach, if you would selfish be And not "ring in" your whole fool family, We'd tolerate you: nay, a pet would make you If you'd not scamper all our pie and cake thru!

THE MOODS OF THE WINDS

O, Breezes of Spring!

How they rollick and ring With delight as they sing Like birds on the wing.

O, Zephyrs of May!

With your balm and bouquet; How you gladden the day Like Fairies at play.

O, Winds of the Fall!

How they thrill and enthrall, How they hurtle and call With shrill caterwaul.

O, Winter's bleak Breath!

How it freezes and saith To the ice-vested wraith, "Thou'rt shrouded in Death."

THE TOXIC TIPPET

'Tis said that Mary, she of Reader note, Was wrapped up in her lamb--her lambskin coat-- E'en after his demise, beatified.

He served her well, and for his mistress dyed.

Then Mary died, and took angelic form, Because the lambskin (used to keep her warm) Gave her the anthrax: what a cruel blow To be thus s.n.a.t.c.hed above from furbelow!

TWENTY-THIRD PSALM

My Shepherd careth for His flock: Beneath a cloudless sky In pastures green, by spring-cleft rock, In luxury I lie.

He brings contentment to my soul And leads me to the Light, By which I see the Heav'nly goal From dismal depths of Night.

Though Poverty attend my way And sorrow fills my heart, Thy Guidance will disaster stay, So good and pure Thou art!

Thou, in the presence of my foes, Bestoweth favors rare, And giveth pleasure and repose In answer to my prayer.

To such a Shepherd I will give My everlasting love, And glory in the Hope--to live With Him, at last, Above.

FRIENDs.h.i.+P

True Friends are rare: who counts them by the score Is blest indeed, for we have, seldom, more.

If we possess just one real, _trusting_ friend Who shares our troubles, loyal to the end; Who, when we fall, will help us to our feet; Who finds with us contentment most complete; Whose pocket-book and heart are open thrown Whether we need affection or a loan, And makes no record of the favor done, But gives, with equal pleasure, either one-- That's Friends.h.i.+p _true_! If I had twenty such, With all their purses open to my touch, And each disposed to "stake" me and forget The circ.u.mstance and measure of the debt, I'd soon be on the road to ease and plenty, But wish I had _such_ friends.h.i.+ps _more than twenty_.

PARAMOUNT PROBLEMS

Shall Women vote? Shall Demon Rum survive Or be, thru Woman Suffrage, flayed alive?

These are the questions that engross the nation: Shall Women vote or be kept on probation?

Are they not gentle, honest, sweet and kind?

A single missing virtue we can't find, And yet we say--"Stay home and can the cherries!

You're far too frail and fine for statecraft worries!

The Sacred Home for you! Just 'tend your chicks!

You'd soil your hands to mix in Politics!

And then there's scrubbing, cooking and a few Odd jobs besides: you couldn't ballot _too_!"

But how absurd! Fair Woman, in her wrath, Will make our future course a th.o.r.n.y path: Unless we meet her fairly in these matters, She'll tear our senseless arguments to tatters, And rule _both_ Home and State to suit herself, Putting deceitful _man_ upon the shelf.

As sure as death or taxes, day or night, She'll have the _vote_ without, or _with_ a fight; And those of us who counsel Peace, as best, Should not oppose and put her to the test; And when she _gets_ the vote, by force or gift, The clouds obscuring Temperance will lift; For all the Wets will vanish, ev'ry one!

Evaporate like mists before the sun.

True, Women drink; it's foolish to deny it!

But not as men do--as a steady diet; They'll take a punch, or sip a little claret, But when it comes to liquor--they can't bear it.

And so we ask again--shall Women vote?

Shall men surrender to the petticoat And give up all their freedom and their tipples Just to return to Lacteal Life and Nipples?

The War is on! Nebraska bids defiance To Rum Dispensers and the Booze Alliance: Hereafter all our barley, wheat and corn Will be quite unresponsive to the _horn_.

The _essence_ of the grain will be tabooed And ev'ry seed accounted for as _food_.