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قراءة كتاب The Jumble Book of Rhymes Recited by the Jumbler
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 4
Life.
| Fickleness of Maidens. |
| Constancy—As Applied to One Man. |
| The One and The Only. |
| Handle With Care. |
| My Garden. |
| My Threnody. |
| Eternity. |
Fickleness of Maidens
"Good-bye," I said to Mary,
To Margie, Maud and May;
And I put them from me harshly
And turned myself away.
For my all in all was Maizie—
I swore it on that day.
But time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace,
And I cried, "Come back, dear ex-ones,
I'm sick of just one face!"
But they replied, "We cannot,
Another has your place."
To Margie, Maud and May;
And I put them from me harshly
And turned myself away.
For my all in all was Maizie—
I swore it on that day.
But time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace,
And I cried, "Come back, dear ex-ones,
I'm sick of just one face!"
But they replied, "We cannot,
Another has your place."
(After Dunbar)
Constancy—As Applied to One Man
A man by Nature ne'er was meant
To love one maid alone—
E'en if by doing so he'd gain
A seat upon a throne.
Polygamous when 'comes to love—
(Be diff'rent no man can)
Monogony's monotony
When 'plied to love of man!
Yet here am I! ('gainst Nature's law)—
Mirabile dictu—
Loving one maid, and just ONE (sic),
Exclusively and true!
As other men, I liv'd and lov'd
Until you came my way—
Now all my love is yours, O Queen,
Forever and a day!
To love one maid alone—
E'en if by doing so he'd gain
A seat upon a throne.
Polygamous when 'comes to love—
(Be diff'rent no man can)
Monogony's monotony
When 'plied to love of man!
Yet here am I! ('gainst Nature's law)—
Mirabile dictu—
Loving one maid, and just ONE (sic),
Exclusively and true!
As other men, I liv'd and lov'd
Until you came my way—
Now all my love is yours, O Queen,
Forever and a day!
Dear, dear dead loves, one last farewell!
Your graves no more I'll tend;
Your ghosts, whom I have welcomed oft,
Their visits now must end.
Sweet girls, whom I have lov'd—and lost—
Loved? Yes, but for a day—
I now have found my Queen of Hearts
Whom I can love alway.
I once thought that I lov'd you well—
But O! the love I feel
For my dear Queen is diff'rent quite—
And it's the love that's real.
My Queen now has each thought, each dream;
No more I'll think of you—
Love was, love's past for all save her—
So, ex-loves all, adieu.
Your graves no more I'll tend;
Your ghosts, whom I have welcomed oft,
Their visits now must end.
Sweet girls, whom I have lov'd—and lost—
Loved? Yes, but for a day—
I now have found my Queen of Hearts
Whom I can love alway.
I once thought that I lov'd you well—
But O! the love I feel
For my dear Queen is diff'rent quite—
And it's the love that's real.
My Queen now has each thought, each dream;
No more I'll think of you—
Love was, love's past for all save her—
So, ex-loves all, adieu.
Handle With Care
The tangible always is frangible.
(Proven long since, I take it).
By chance or by art you've taken hold of my heart—
But please, Little Girl, don't break it!
(Proven long since, I take it).
By chance or by art you've taken hold of my heart—
But please, Little Girl, don't break it!
The One and The Only
Hundreds of maids in this world have been born
With many a charm that allures, dear;
Hundreds are radiant, fair as the morn—
But never were eyes just like yours dear.
Hundreds boast beauty of form and of face,
Which always devotion assures, dear;
Hundreds personification of grace,
But none has a smile just like yours, dear.
With many a charm that allures, dear;
Hundreds are radiant, fair as the morn—
But never were eyes just like yours dear.
Hundreds boast beauty of form and of face,
Which always devotion assures, dear;
Hundreds personification of grace,
But none has a smile just like yours, dear.
Hundreds accomplished in letters and song,
And hundreds attractive and clever;
Daily I walk through this limitless throng,
Yet find none compares with you—ever.
If from these hundreds an artist should mould
A composite maid, near perfection;
Stand her beside you, to choose I be told—
My dear, can't you guess my selection?
Hundreds and millions of maids there may be,
And yet, without you I'd be lonely.
Pray be convinced, for I speak truthfully:
Dear, you are the One and the Only.
And hundreds attractive and clever;
Daily I walk through this limitless throng,
Yet find none compares with you—ever.
If from these hundreds an artist should mould
A composite maid, near perfection;
Stand her beside you, to choose I be told—
My dear, can't you guess my selection?
Hundreds and millions of maids there may be,
And yet, without you I'd be lonely.
Pray be convinced, for I speak truthfully:
Dear, you are the One and the Only.
My Garden
I wander into my garden,
My garden of loves that are dead,
And stop at a withered rose bush
That once grew a blossom of red.
How passionately, true I loved it,
Thought without it I could not abide—
How bitter it is to remember
In a night it had withered and died.
The violet that grew on the hillside
I loved with a love that was true;
But 'twas snatched from me e'en as I held it—
O, Violet, dear, how I loved you!
And dearest of all, the sweet June Rose,
As a bud she'd come out first that year;
But I lost her just as I'd plucked her—
The heartless and pitiless dear!
The lily and pink that I worshipped
Each deigned but a season to stay,
And returned not again though I waited
And longed for them many a day.
Dear loves that are dead, hear me say it:
A loving good-bye to you all!
No more shall I visit this garden,
For my true love grows just o'er the wall.
Having loved you has made my love stronger
For her whom I now so adore;
I'd truly not know how to love her
Had I not loved you-all before.
Good-bye, then, again,
My garden of loves that are dead,
And stop at a withered rose bush
That once grew a blossom of red.
How passionately, true I loved it,
Thought without it I could not abide—
How bitter it is to remember
In a night it had withered and died.
The violet that grew on the hillside
I loved with a love that was true;
But 'twas snatched from me e'en as I held it—
O, Violet, dear, how I loved you!
And dearest of all, the sweet June Rose,
As a bud she'd come out first that year;
But I lost her just as I'd plucked her—
The heartless and pitiless dear!
The lily and pink that I worshipped
Each deigned but a season to stay,
And returned not again though I waited
And longed for them many a day.
Dear loves that are dead, hear me say it:
A loving good-bye to you all!
No more shall I visit this garden,
For my true love grows just o'er the wall.
Having loved you has made my love stronger
For her whom I now so adore;
I'd truly not know how to love her
Had I not loved you-all before.
Good-bye, then, again,