Page 58 - Poetry-Whimsy

I’ve cowed the preacher with my wrath,
I scorn the Judge’s ermine;
I’ve spilled both brief and sermon;
And books and socks and cards and strings
Too numerous to mention;
And babies’ clothes and women’s things,
Beyond my comprehensions.
I’ve spilled, I’ve scattered, I’ve slung,
As far as space could sever,
And scatter, scatter, old or young,
I’ll scatter things forever!
Ever! Ever!
Scatter things forever.

—(From a Victorian Scrap Album)

The Devil’s Balloon

The Rev. Henry Ware, Jr. , lying sleepless in his berth on board ship, once
amused himself by weaving in to the story of the Deluge all the rhymes of
the word “ark” that he could summon up. One night, in a period of
insomnia, I tried the same experiment—though in a lighter and more
secular vein—on the word “balloon,” and before I fell asleep got through
several of the rhymes here given. Afterwards I tried how many more rhymes
to the word could be mustered, and the result was the following nonsense-
sketch.

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