Now waiters overthwart this land, In tearooms and in dives, Mute be your lips whatever the tips, And save your customers' lives.
Whene'er the penner of this pome Regards a lovely country home, He sighs, in words not insincere, "I think I'd like to live out here."
And when the builder of this ditty Returns to this pulsating city, The perpetrator of this pome Yearns for a lovely country home.
When first I doffed my olive drab, I thought, delightedly though mutely, "Henceforth I shall have pleasure ab- Solutely."
Dull with the drudgery of war, Sick of the very name of fighting, I yearned, I thought, for something more Exciting.
The rainbow be my guide, quoth I; My suit shall be a brave and proud one Gay-hued my socks; and oh, my tie A loud one!
For me the theatre and the dance; Primrose the path I would be wending; For me the roses of romance Unending.
Those were my inner thoughts that day (And those of many another million) When once again I should be a Civilian.
I would not miss the old o. d.; (Monotony I didn't much like) I would not miss the reveille, And such like.
I don't ... And do I now enjoy My walks along the primrose way so? Is civil life the life? Oh, boy, I'll say so.
Man hath harnessed the lightning; Man hath soared to the skies; Mountain and hill are clay to his will; Skilful he is, and wise. Sea to sea hath he wedded, Canceled the chasm of space, Given defeat to cold and heat; Splendour is his, and grace.
His are the topless turrets; His are the plumbless pits; Earth is slave to his architrave, Heaven is thrall to his wits. And so in the golden future, He who hath dulled the storm (As said above) may make a glove That'll keep my fingers warm.
Thine aid, O Muse, I consciously beseech; I crave thy succour, ask for thine assistance That men may cry: "Some little ode! A peach!" O Muse, grant me the strength to go the distance! For odes, I learn, are dithyrambs, and long; Exalted feeling, dignity of theme And complicated structure guide the song. (All this from Webster's book of high esteem.)
Let complicated structure not becloud My lucid lines, nor weight with overloading. To Shelley, Keats, and Wordsworth and that crowd I yield the bays for ground and lofty oding. Mine but the task to trace a country's growth, As evidenced by each inauguration From Washington's to Wilson's primal oath-- In these U. S., the celebrated nation.