Page 65 - Poetry-Books

With gowns and gaiters, watches, clocks,
Each on—a guarantee.

For agents, all are begging,
Though fortunes great are made
In books upon commission
And “all expenses paid”;
They offer farms for nothing
On maps and plans displayed.

In winter—here are heaters
With patent grate and flue;
In summer—ice-cream freezers,
Refrigerators, too;
And here are Brobdingnagian fruits,
That grow in spite of you.

Oh! could I own a check-book
In Russia*, edged with gold,
Backed by some banker’s well-stored vaults,
And all his wealth untold,
I’d write to every one of them
A letter fierce and bold—

I’d order from each dealer
All he did advertise,
And all these dreams of luxury
At once I’d realize,
Then sit and open bundles
In a sort of Paradise!

— Tudor Jenks (Century Magazine, 1891)
*A type of leather binding.

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