Me and 'Lize, and Warr'n and Jess
And Eldory home fer
two
Weeks' vacation; and, I guess,
Old folks tickled through and
through,
Same as
we
was,—"Home onc't more
Fer another Chris'mus—shore!"
Pap 'u'd say, and tilt his cheer,—
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Mostly Pap was ap' to be
Ser'ous in his "daily
walk,"
As he called it; giner'ly
Was no hand to joke er
talk.
Fac's is, Pap had never be'n
Rugged-like at all—and then
Three years in the army had
Hepped to break him purty bad.
Man and children in woods
Never
flinched
! but frost and snow
Hurt his wownd in winter.
But
You bet
Mother
knowed it, though!—
Watched his feet, and made him putt
On his flannen; and his knee,
Where it never healed up, he
Claimed was "well now—mighty near—
Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Pap 'u'd say, and snap his eyes
...
Row o' apples sputter'n' here
Round the hearth, and me and
'Lize
Crackin' hicker'-nuts; and Warr'n
And Eldory parchin' corn;
And whole raft o' young folks here.
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Mother tuk most comfort in
Jest a-heppin' Pap: She'd
fill
His pipe fer him, er his tin
O' hard cider; er set
still
And read fer him out the pile
O' newspapers putt on file
Whilse he was with Sherman—(She
Knowed the whole war-history!)
Sometimes he'd git het up some.—
"Boys," he'd say, "and you
girls, too,
Chris'mus is about to come;
So, as you've a right to
do,
Celebrate
it! Lots has died,
Same as Him they crucified,
That you might be happy here.
Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Missed his voice last Chris'mus—missed
Them old cheery words, you
know.
Mother belt up tel she kissed
All of us—then had to
go
And break down! And I laughs: "Here!
'Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
"Them's his very words," sobbed she,
"When he asked to marry me."
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a
year!"
Over, over, still I hear,
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a
year!"
Yit, like him, I'm goin' to smile
And keep cheerful all the while:
Allus
Chris'mus
There
—And here
"Chris'mus comes but onc't a year!"
Hat and coat hanging on wall
TO THE JUDGE
A Voice From the Interior of Old Hoop-Pole Township
Friend of my earliest youth,
Can't you arrange to come
down
And visit a fellow out here in the woods—
Out of the dust of the
town?
Can't you forget you're a Judge
And put by your dolorous
frown
And tan your wan face in the smile of a friend—
Can't you arrange to come
down?
Can't you forget for a while
The arguments prosy and
drear,—
To lean at full-length in indefinite rest
In the lap of the greenery
here?
Can't you kick over "the Bench,"
And "husk" yourself out of your
gown
To dangle your legs where the fishing is good—
Can't you arrange to come
down?
Bah! for your office of State!
And bah! for its technical
lore!
What does our President, high in his chair,
But wish himself low as
before!
Pick between peasant and king,—
Poke your bald head through a
crown
Or shadow it here with the laurels of Spring!—
Can't you arrange to come
down?
"Judge it" out
here
, if you will,—
The birds are in session by
dawn;
You can draw, not
complaints
, but a sketch of the
hill
And a breath that your betters
have drawn;
You can open your heart, like a case,
To a jury of kine, white and
brown,
And their verdict of "Moo" will just satisfy you!—
Can't you arrange to come
down?
Can't you arrange it, old Pard?—
Pigeonhole Blackstone and
Kent!—
Here we have "Breitmann," and Ward,
Twain, Burdette, Nye, and
content!
Can't you forget you're a Judge
And put by your dolorous
frown
And tan your wan face in the smile of a friend—
Can't you arrange to come
down?
OUR BOYHOOD HAUNTS
Ho! I'm going back to where
We were youngsters.—Meet me there,
Dear old barefoot chum, and we
Will be as we used to be,—
Lawless rangers up and down
The old creek beyond the town—
Little sunburnt gods at play,
Just as in that far-away:—
Water nymphs, all unafraid,
Shall smile at us from the brink
Of the old millrace and wade
Tow'rd us as we kneeling drink
At the spring our boyhood knew,
Pure and clear as morning-dew:
And, as we are rising there,
Doubly dow'rd to hear and see,
We shall thus be made aware
Of an eerie piping, heard
High above the happy bird
In the hazel: And then we,
Just across the creek, shall see
(Hah! the goaty rascal!) Pan
Hoof it o'er the sloping green,
Mad with his own melody,
Aye, and (bless the beasty man!)
Stamping from the grassy soil
Bruiséd scents of
fleur-de-lis
,
Boneset, mint and pennyroyal.
MY DANCIN'-DAYS IS OVER
What is it in old fiddle-chunes 'at makes me ketch my breath
And ripples up my backbone tel I'm tickled most to death?—
Kindo' like that sweet-sick
feelin', in the long sweep of a swing,
The first you ever swung in,
with yer first sweet-heart, i jing!—
Yer first picnic—yer
first ice-cream—yer first o' ever'thing
'At happened 'fore yer
dancin'-days wuz over!
I never understood it—and I s'pose I never
can,—
But right in town here, yisterd'y, I heerd a pore blindman
A-fiddlin' old "Gray
Eagle"—And-sir! I jes stopped my load
O' hay and listened at
him—yes, and watched the way he
"bow'd,"—
And back I went, plum forty
year', with boys and girls I knowed
And loved, long 'fore my
dancin'-days wuz over!—
Man playing a fiddle near a horse-drawn wagon
At high noon in yer city,—with yer blame
Magnetic-Cars
A-hummin' and a-screetchin' past—and bands and
G.A.R.'s
A-marchin'—and
fire-ingines.—All the noise, the whole street
through,
Wuz lost on me!—I only
heerd a whipperwill er two,
It 'peared-like, kindo' callin'
'crost the darkness and the dew,
Them nights afore my
dancin'-days wuz over.
T'uz Chused'y-night at Wetherell's, er We'nsd'y-night at Strawn's,
Er Fourth-o'-July-night at uther Tomps's house er John's!—
With old Lew Church from Sugar
Crick, with that old fiddle he
Had sawed clean through the
Army, from Atlanty to the sea—
And yit he'd fetched, her home
ag'in, so's he could play fer me
One't more afore my
dancin'-days wuz over!
The woods 'at's all ben cut away wuz growin' same as then;
The youngsters all wuz boys ag'in 'at's now all oldish men;
And all the girls 'at
then wuz girls—I saw 'em, one and all,
As plain as
then—the middle-sized, the short-and-fat, and
tall—
And, 'peared-like, I danced
"Tucker" fer 'em up and down the wall
Jes like afore my dancin' days
wuz over!
Yer
po
-leece they can holler "Say!
you
, Uncle!
drive ahead!—
You can't use
all
the right-o'-way!"—fer that
wuz what they
said!—
But, jes the same,—in
spite of all 'at you call "interprise
And prog-gress of
you-folks Today," we're all of fambly-ties—
We're all got feelin's fittin'
fer the tears 'at's in our eyes
Er the smiles afore our
dancin'-days is over.
HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS
O your hands—they are strangely fair!
Fair—for the jewels that sparkle there,—
Fair—for the witchery of the spell
That ivory keys alone can tell;
But when their delicate touches rest
Here in my own do I love them best,
As I clasp with eager acquisitive spans
My glorious treasure of beautiful hands!
Marvelous—wonderful—beautiful hands!
They can coax roses to bloom in the strands
Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine.
Under mysterious touches of thine,
Into such knots as entangle the soul,
And fetter the heart under such a control
As only the strength of my love understands—
My passionate love for your beautiful hands.
As I remember the first fair touch
Of those beautiful hands that I love so much,
I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled,
Kissing the glove that I found unfilled—
When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow,
As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!"
And dazed and alone in a dream I stand
Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand.
When first I loved, in the long ago,
And held your hand as I told you so—
Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss,
And said "I could die for a hand like this!"
Little I dreamed love's fulness yet
Had to ripen when eyes were wet,
And prayers were vain in their wild demands
For one warm touch of your beautiful hands.
Beautiful Hands! O Beautiful Hands!
Could you reach out of the alien lands
Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night,
Only a touch—were it ever so light—
My heart were soothed, and my weary brain
Would lull itself into rest again;
For there is no solace the world commands
Like the caress of your beautiful hands.