Page 55 - Poetry-Country

I gave my poor relations coffee, tea;
And often on a summer afternoon
I wasted ice to make the ice-man glad;
And on this happy day my heart’s not sad.

For here the seal-skin sacque behold,
The grocer’s recognition
Of all my services untold
To strengthen his position.

The ice-man, sinister and grim,
Within my dream reposes.
He knows that I looked out for him
Throughout the time of roses.

When whistling winter reddened ear and nose,
I stopped the fire and made the kitchen cold;
And soon the leaden pipes all stiffly froze,
And on the princely plumber showered gold.

I wasted coal, and that is, I suppose,
Why I have got the coal-man in my hold.
I see the presents in my vision glow:
To-morrow for the Safe Deposit Co!

Oh, look at this porcelain pitcher!
Oh, look at this bright chatelaine!
The plumber through me has grown richer;
The coal dealer also, ‘tis plain.

Oh my, but I have a position
That fills me with joy through and through!
Because, while I work on commission,
I work upon salary too.

I’ll leave the fresh meat on the tubs to-night
That it may spoil, and make the butcher dance
With rapture; and till morn I’ll burn each light,
To waste the oil at which they never glance.

I’ll fall down stairs, and in my rapid flight
Shatter a tray of china bought in France,—

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