The Return of the Soldier
Lady when I left you
Ere I sailed the sea,
Bitterly bereft you
Told me you would be.
Frequently and often
When I fought the foe,
How my heart would soften,
Pitying your woe!
Still, throughout my yearning,
It was my belief,
That my mere returning
Would annul your grief.
Arguing ex parte,
Maybe you can tell
Why I find your heart A.
W.O.L.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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After Hearing Robin Hood
The songs of Sherwood Forest
Are lilac-sweet and clear;
The virile rhymes of merrier times
Sound fair upon mine ear.
Sweet is their sylvan cadence
And sweet their simple art.
The balladry of the greenwood tree
Stirs memories in my heart.
O braver days and elder
With mickle valor dight,
How ye bring back the time, alack!
When Harry Smith could write!
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Rich Man
The rich man has his motor-car,
His country and his town estate.
He smokes a fifty-cent cigar
And jeers at Fate.
He frivols through the livelong day,
He knows not Poverty, her pinch.
His lot seems light, his heart seems gay;
He has a cinch.
Yet though my lamp burns low and dim,
Though I must slave for livelihood—
Think you that I would change with him?
You bet I would!
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Advising Chloë
Horace: Book I, Ode 23
"Vitas hinnuleo me similis, Chloë--"
Why shun me, my Chloë? Nor pistol nor bowie
Is mine with intention to kill.
And yet like a llama you run to your mamma;
You tremble as though you were ill.
No lion to rend you, no tiger to end you,
I'm tame as a bird in a cage.
That counsel maternal can run for The Journal--
You get me, I guess. . . . You're of age.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Regarding (1) the U.S. and (2) New York
Before I was a travelled bird,
I scoffed, in my provincial way,
At other lands; I deemed absurd
All nations but these U.S.A.
And--although Middle-Western born--
Before I was a travelled guy,
I laughed at, with unhidden scorn,
All cities but New York, N.Y.
But now I've been about a bit--
How travel broadens! How it does!
And I have found out this, to wit:
How right I was! How right I was!
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Us Potes
Swift was sweet on Stella;
Poe had his Lenore;
Burns' fancy turned to Nancy
And a dozen more.
Poe was quite a trifler;
Goldsmith was a case;
Byron'd flirt with any skirt
From Liverpool to Thrace.
Sheridan philandered;
Shelley, Keats, and Moore
All were there with some affair
Far from lit'rachoor.
Fickle is the heart of
Each immortal bard.
Mine alone is made of stone-
Gotta work too hard.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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On the Uses of Adversity
"Nam nihil est, quod non mortalibus afferat usum."
--PETRONIUS
Nothing there is that mortal man may utterly despise;
What in our wealth we treasured, in our poverty we prize.
The gold upon a sinking ship has often wrecked the boat,
While on a simple oar a shipwrecked man may keep afloat.
The burglar seeks the plutocrat, attracted by his dress--
The poor man finds his poverty the true preparedness.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Thoughts on the Cosmos
I
I do not hold with him who thinks
The world is jonahed by a jinx;
That everything is sad and sour,
And life a withered hothouse flower.
II
I hate the Polyanna pest
Who says that All Is for the Best,
And hold in high, unhidden scorn
Who sees the Rose, nor feels the Thorn.
III
I do not like extremists who
Are like the pair in (I) and (II);
But how I hate the wabbly gink,
Like me, who knows not what to think!
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Lines on Reading Frank J. Wilstach's
As neat as wax, as good as new,
As true as steel, as truth is true,
Good as a sermon, keen as hate,
Full as a tick, and fixed as fate--
Brief as a dream, long as the day,
Sweet as the rosy morn in May,
Chaste as the moon, as snow is white,
Broad as barn doors, and new as sight--
Useful as daylight, firm as stone,
Wet as a fish, dry as a bone,
Heavy as lead, light as a breeze--
Frank Wilstach's book of similies.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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On the Importance of Being Earnest
"Gentle Jane was as good as gold,"
To borrow a line from Mr. Gilbert;
She hated War with a hate untold,
She was a pacifistic filbert.
If you said "Perhaps"--she'd leave the hall.
You couldn't argue with her at all.
"Teasing Tom was a very bad boy,"
(Pardon my love for a good quotation).
To talk of war was his only joy,
And his single purpose was preparation.
* * * * *
And what both of these children had to say
I never knew, for I ran away.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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