After Dilettante Concetti (A big brother speaketh:) "The refrain you've studied a meaning had, Sister Helen! It gave strange force to a weird ballad. But refrains have become a ridiculous 'fad,' And Mother Carey, mother, Has a bearing on nothing in earth or heaven. "But the finical fashion has had its day, And let's try in the style of a different lay Little brother. So, Mother Carey, mother! Collect your chickens and go to-heaven." (A pause. Then the big brother singeth, accompanying himself in a plaintive wise on the triangle.) "Look in my face. My name is Used-to-was; The common-sense of man; and I, alas! The ballad-burden trick, now known too well, And turned to scorn, and grown contemptibleA too transparent artifice to pass. "What a cheap dodge I am! The cats who dart 475 H. D. Traill. WHENCENESS OF THE WHICH SOME DISTANCE AFTER TENNYSON COME into the Whenceness Which, I am here by the Where alone; Queen Which of the Whichbud garden of What's In gloss of Isness and shimmer of Was, Shine out, little Which, sunning over the bangs, There has fallen a splendid tear From the Is flower at the fence; She is coming, my Which, my dear, And as she Whistles a song of the Whence, The Whoness murmurs, " Well, I should smile," Unknown. THE LITTLE STAR SCINTILLATE, scintillate, globule orific, When torrid Phoebus refuses his presence Sainte Margérie Then the victim of hospiceless peregrination 477 Unknown. THE ORIGINAL LAMB О, Mary had a little lamb, regarding whose cuticular One day it did accompany her to the knowledge dispensary, Then Mary, on beholding such performance arbitrary, Suffused her eyes with saline drops from glands called lachrymary, And all the pupils grew thereat tumultuously hilarious, And speculated on the case with wild conjectures various. "What makes the lamb love Mary so?" the scholars asked the teacher. He paused a moment, then he tried to diagnose the creature. "Oh pecus amorem Mary habit omnia temporum." "Thanks, teacher dear," the scholars cried, and awe crept darkly o'er 'em. SAINTE MARGÉRIE SLIM feet than lilies tenderer,- That scarce upbore the body of her, Unknown. White as a shroud the silken gown,— Margérie! That flowed from shoulder to ankle down, On back and bosom withouten braid,— In crispèd glory of darkling red, Eyes, like a dim sea, viewed from far,- Lips that no earthly love shall mar, The chamber walls are cracked and bare;- Without the gossips stood astare Five pennies lay her hand within,— So she her fair soul's weal might win, Dank straw from dunghill gathered,— Where fragrant swine have made their bed, C'est ça Sainte Margérie! Three pennies to the poor in dole,- One to the clerk her knell shall toll, And one to masses for her soul;- Unknown. Robert Frost ROBERT FROST RELATES THE DEATH OF THE TIRED MAN THERE were two of us left in the berry-patch; A long, brown coat that buttoned down before. And then, without a pause to let me answer, "How about Dr. Foster?" "Well, how about him?" I managed to reply. Into a general survey of the world. Choosing his phrases with a finicky care So they might fit some vague opinions, Taken, third-hand, from last year's New York Times He thought was his philosophy. "Never mind; There's more in Foster than you'd understand. "What do you make of Solomon Grundy's case? 479 |