Page 82 - Poetry-Whimsy

A lie is all she shows.
For virtue’s sake, I hope to find
One good old doctrine true,
Some heat for such I should not mind,
You wouldn’t—if you knew.

—(from a Victorian Scrap Album)

The Little Banana Peel

Like a bar of beaten gold
I gleam in the summer’s sun
I am little, I know, but I think I can throw
A man that will weigh a ton.
I send out no challenges bold,
I blow me no vaunting horn,
But foolish is he who treadeth on me;
He’ll wish he had ne’er been born.

Like the flower of the field vain man
Goeth forth at the break of day,
But when he shall feel my grip on his heel
Like the stubble he fadeth away;

For I lift him high up in the air,
With his heels where his head ought to be;
With a down-coming crash he maketh his mash,
And I know he’s clear gone upon me.

I am scorned by the man who buys me;
I am modest and quiet and meek;
Though my talents are few, yet the work that I do
Has oft made the cellar doors creak.
I’m a blood-red republican born,
And a nihilist fearless I be;
Though the head wear a crown, I would bring its pride down
If it set its proud heel upon me.

—(from a Victorian Scrap Album)

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