A Lament
Horace: Book II, Elegy 8
"Eripitur nobis iam pridem cara puella---"
While she I loved is being torn
From arms that held her many years,
Dost thou regard me, friend, with scorn,
Or seek to check my tears?
Bitter the hatred for a jilt,
And hot the hates of Eros are;
My hatred, slay me as thou wilt,
For thee'd be gentler far.
Can I endure that she recline
Upon another's arm? Shall they
No longer call that lady "mine"
Who "mine" was yesterday?
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poem by Franklin P. Adams
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To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming The Conning Tower
Well William, since I wrote you long ago--
As I recall, one cool October morning--
(I have The Tribune files. They clearly show
I gave you warning).
Since when I penned that consequential ode,
The world has seen a vast amount of slaughter,
And under many a Gallic bridge has flowed
A lot of water.
I said when your people ceased to strafe,
That when you'd put an end to all this war stuff,
And all the world was reasonably safe
I'd write some more stuff.
That when you missed the quip and wanton wile
And learned you couldn't bear a Towerless season,
I quote, "O, I shall not be petty. . . . I'll
Listen to reason."
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Office Mottoes
Motto heartening, inspiring,
Framed above my pretty *desk,
Never Shelley, Keats, or Byring*
Penned a phrase so picturesque!
But in me no inspiration
Rides my low and prosy brow-
All I think of is vacation
When I see that lucubration:
DO IT NOW
When I see another sentence
Framed upon a brother's wall,
Resolution and repentance
Do not flood o'er me at all
As I read that nugatory
Counsel written years ago,
Only when one comes to borry[Footnote: Entered under the Pure License of
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Thoughts in a Far Country
I rise and applaud, in the patriot manner,
Whenever (as often) I hear
The palpitanat strains of "The Star Spangled Banner,"--
I shout and cheer.
And also, to show my unbound devotion,
I jump to my feet with a "Whee!"
Whenever "Columbia, the Gem of the Ocean"
Is played near me.
My fervour's so hot and my ardour so searing--
I'm hoarse for a couple of days--
You've heard me, I'm positive, joyously cheering
"The Marsailles"
I holler for "Dixie." I go off my noodle,
I whistle, I pound, and I stamp
Whenever an orchestra plays "Yankee Doodle,"
Or "Tramp, Tramp, Tramp."
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poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Again Endorsing the Lady
Horace: Book II, Elegy 2
"Liber eram et vacuo meditabar vivere lecto--"
I was free. I thought that I had entered
Love's Antarctic Zone.
"A truce to sentiment," I said. "My nights
shall be my own."
But Love had double-crossed me. How can
Beauty be so fair?
The grace of her, the face of her--and oh,
her yellow hair!
And oh, the wondrous walk of her! So doth
a goddess glide.
Jove's sister--ay, or Pallas--hath no statelier
a stride.
Fair as Iscomache herself, the Lapithanian
maid;
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I'm Out of the Army Now
When first I doffed my olive drab,
I thought, delightfully though mutely,
"Henceforth I shall have pleasure ab-
Solutely."
Dull with the drudgery of war,
Sick of the name of fighting,
I yearned, I thought, for something more
Exciting.
The rainbow be my guide, quoth I;
My suit shall be a brave and proud one
Gay-hued my socks; and oh, my tie
A loud one.
For me the theater and the dance;
Primrose the path I would be wending;
For me the roses of romance
Unending.
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Those Two Boys
WHEN Bill was a lad he was terribly bad.
He worried his parents a lot;
He'd lie and he'd swear and pull little girls' hair;
His boyhood was naught but a blot.
At play and in school he would fracture each rule— 5
In mischief from autumn to spring;
And the villagers knew when to manhood he grew
He would never amount to a thing.
When Jim was a child he was not very wild;
He was known as a good little boy;
He was honest and bright and the teacher's delight—
To his mother and father a joy.
All the neighbors were sure that his virtue'd endure,
That his life would be free of a spot;
They were certain that Jim had a great head on him 15
And that Jim would amount to a lot.
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If Amy Lowell Had Been James Whitcomb Riley
When you came you were like red wine and honey,
And the taste of you burnt my mouth with its sweetness.
Now you are like morning bread--
Smooth and pleasant,
I hardly taste you at all, for I know your savour,
But I am completely nourished.
--AMY LOWELL, in The Chimæra.
When I wuz courtin' Annie, she wuz honey an' red wine,
She made me feel all jumpy, did that ol' sweetheart o' mine;
Wunst w'en I went to Crawfordsville, on one o' them there trips,
I kissed her--an' the burnin' taste wuz sizzlin' on my lips.
An' now I've married Annie, an' I see her all the time,
I do not feel the daily need o' bustin' into rhyme.
An' now the wine-y taste is gone, fer Annie's always there,
An' I take her fer granted now, the same ez sun an' air.
But though the honey taste wuz sweet, an' though the wine wuz strong,
Yet ef I lost the sun an' air, I couldn't git along.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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A Poor Excuse, but our own
(Why don't you ever write any child poetry?
-A MOTHER.)
My right-hand neighbour hath a child,
A pretty child of five or six,
Not more than other children wild,
Nor fuller than the rest of tricks-
At five he rises, shine or rain,
And noisily plays 'fire' or 'train.'
Likewise a girl, _aetatis_ eight,
He hath. Each morning, as a rule,
Proudly my neighbour will relate
How bright Mathilda is at school.
My ardour, less than half of mild,
Bids me to comment, 'Wondrous child!'
All through the vernal afternoon
My other neighbour's children skate
A wild Bacchantic rigadoon
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Present Imperative
Horace: Book I, Ode 11
"Tu ne quaesieris--scire nefas
--quem mihi; quem tibi--"
AD LEUCONOEN
Nay querry not, Leuconoë, the finish of the fable;
Eliminate the worry as to what the years may hoard!
You only waste your time upon the Babylonian Table--
(Slang for the ouija board).
And as to whether Jupiter, the final, unsurpassed one,
May add a lot of winters to our portion here below,
Or this impinging season is to be our very last one--
Really, I'd hate to know.
Apply yourself to wisdom! Sweep the floor and wash the dishes,
Nor dream about the things you'll do in 1928!
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