Read Ebook: Poems Vol. IV by Howard Hattie

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Ebook has 586 lines and 41502 words, and 12 pages

Ah, yes, a rainy day may be A blessed interval! A little halt for introspect, A little moment to reflect On life's discrepancy-- Our puny stint so poorly done, The larger duties scarce begun-- And so may conscience culpable Suggest a remedy.

The Subway.

Oh, who in creation would fail to descend That wonderful hole in the ground?-- That, feeling its way like a hypocrite-friend In sinuous fashion, seems never to end; While thunder and lightning abound.

Oh, who in creation would dare to go down That great subterranean hole-- The tunnel, the terror, the talk of the town, That gives to the city a mighty renown And a shaking as never before?

A serpent, a spider, its mouth at the top Where the flies are all buzzing about; Down into its maw where the populace drop, Who never know where they are going to stop, Or whether they'll ever get out.

Why is it, with millions of acres untrod Where never the ploughshare hath been, That man must needs burrow miles under the sod, As if to get farther and farther from God, And deeper and deeper in sin?

Come up out of Erebus into the day, There's plenty of room overhead; No boring or blasting of rocks in the way, No stratum of sticky, impervious clay-- All vacuous vapor instead.

Oh, give us a transit, a tube or an "el--", Not leagues from the surface below; As if we were never in Heaven to dwell, As if we were all being fired to--well, The place where we don't want to go!

The Apple Tree.

Has ever a tree from the earth upsprung Around whose body have children clung, Whose bounteous branches the birds among Have pecked the fruit, and chirped and sung-- Was ever a tree, or shall there be, So hardy, so sturdy, so good to see, So welcome a boon to the family, Like the pride of the farmer, the apple tree?

How he loves to be digging about its root, Or grafting the bud in the tender shoot, The daintiest palate that he may suit With the fairest and finest selected fruit. How he boasts of his Sweetings, so big for size; His delicate Greenings--made for pies; His Golden Pippins that take the prize, The Astrachans tempting, that tell no lies.

How he learns of the squirrel a thing or two That the wise little rodents always knew, And never forget or fail to do, Of laying up store for the winter through; So he hollows a space in the mellow ground Where leaves for lining and straw abound, And well remembers his apple mound When a day of scarcity comes around.

The more I muse on those stories old The more philosophy they unfold Of husbands docile and women bold, And Satan's purposes manifold; Ah, many a couple halve their fare With that mistaken and misfit air That the world and all are ready to swear To a mighty unapple-y mated pair.

The apple's an old-fashioned tree I know, All gnarled and bored by the curculio, And loves to stand in a zigzag row; And doesn't make half so much of a show As the lovely almond that blooms like a ball, And spreads out wide like a pink parasol Set on its stem by the garden-wall; But I love the apple tree, after all.

What of that apple beyond the seas, Fruit of the famed Hesperides? But dust and ashes compared to these That grow on Columbia's apple trees; And I sigh for the apples of years agone: For Rambos streaked like the morning dawn, For Russets brown with their jackets on, And aromatic as cinnamon.

Oh, the peach and cherry may have their place, And the pear is fine in its stately grace; The plum belongs to a puckery race And maketh awry the mouth and face; But I long to roam in the orchard free, The dear old orchard that used to be, And gather the beauties that dropped for me From the bending boughs of the apple tree.

Two Roses.

I've a friend beyond the ocean So regardful, so sincere, And he sends me in a letter Such a pretty souvenir.

It is crushed to death and withered, Out of shape and very flat, But its pure, delicious odor Is the richer for all that.

'Tis a rose from Honolulu, And it bears the tropic brand, Sandwiched in this friendly missive From that far-off flower-land.

While I dream I hear the music That of happiness foretells, Like the flourishing of trumpets And the sound of marriage bells.

There's a rose upon the prairie, Chosen his by happy fate, He shall gather when he cometh Sailing through the Golden Gate.

Mine, a public posy, growing Somewhere by the garden wall, Might have gone to any stranger, May have been admired by all.

But the rose in beauty blushing, Tenderly and sweetly grown In the home and its affections, Blooms for him, and him alone.

Speed the voyager returning; His shall be a welcome warm, With the Rose of Minnesota Gently resting on his arm.

Love embraces in his kingdom Earth and sea and sky and air. Hail, Columbia! hail, Hawaii! It is Heaven everywhere.

The Taxidermist.

From other men he stands apart, Wrapped in sublimity of thought Where futile fancies enter not; With starlike purpose pressing on Where Agassiz and Audubon Labored, and sped that noble art Yet in its pristine dawn.

Something to conquer, to achieve, Makes life well worth the struggle hard; Its petty ills to disregard, In high endeavor day by day With this incentive--that he may Somehow mankind the richer leave When he has passed away.

Forest and field he treads alone, Finding companionship in birds, In reptiles, rodents, yea, in herds Of drowsy cattle fat and sleek; For these to him a language speak To common multitudes unknown As tones of classic Greek.

Unthinking creatures and untaught, They to his nature answer back Something his fellow mortals lack; And oft educe from him the sigh That they unnoticed soon must die, Leaving of their existence naught To be remembered by.

Man may aspire though in the slough; May dream of glory, strive for fame, Thirst for the prestige of a name. And shall these friends, that so invite The study of the erudite, Ever as he beholds them now Perish like sparks of light?

Nay, 'tis his purpose and design To keep them: not like mummies old Papyrus-mantled fold on fold, But elephant, or dove, or swan, Its native hue and raiment on, In effigy of plumage fine, Or skin its native tawn.

What God hath wrought thus time shall tell, And thus endowment rich and vast Be rescued from the buried past; And rare reliques that never fade Be in the manikin portrayed Till taxidermy witness well The debt to science paid.

Lo! one appeareth unforetold-- This re-creator, yea, of men; Making him feel as born again Who looketh up with reverent eyes, Through wonders that his soul surprise, That great Creator to behold All-powerful, all-wise.

Epithalamium.

"Whom God hath joined"--ah, this sententious phrase A meaning deeper than the sea conveys, And of a sweet and solemn service tells With the rich resonance of wedding-bells; It speaks of vows and obligations given As if amid the harmony of heaven, While seraph lips approving seem to say, "Love, honor, and obey."

Is Hymen then ambassador divine, His mission, matrimonial and benign, The heart to counsel, ardor to incite, Convert the nun, rebuke the eremite? As if were this his mandate from the throne: "It is not good for them to be alone; Behold the land! its fruitage and its flowers, Not mine and thine, but ours."

Did not great Paul aver, in lucid spell, That they of conjugal intent "do well"? But hinted at a better state,--'tis one With which two loving souls have naught to do. For, in well-doing being quite content, Be there another state more excellent To which the celibate doth fain repair, They neither know nor care.

And does the Lord of all become High Priest, And with his presence grace the wedding-feast? Then must the whole celestial throng draw nigh, For nuptials there are none beyond the sky; So is the union sanctified and blest, For Love is host, and Love is welcome guest; So may the joyous bridal season be Like that of Galilee.

Sweet Mary, of the blessed name so dear To all the loving Saviour who revere, Madonna-like be thou in every grace That shall adorn thee in exalted place, And thine the happy privilege to prove The depth, the tenderness of woman's love; So shall the heart that honors thee today Bow down to thee alway.

O radiant June, in wealth of light and air, With leaf and bud and blossom everywhere, Let all bright tokens affluent combine, And round the bridal pair in splendor shine; Let sweethearts coy and lovers fond and true On this glad day their tender vows renew, And all in wedlock's bond rejoice as they Whom God hath joined for aye.

A Fowl Affair.

I hope I'm not too orthodox To give a joke away, That took me like the chicken-pox And left a debt to pay.

Let argument ignore the cost, If it be dear or cheap, And only claim that naught be lost When it's too good to keep.

The proverb says "All flesh is grass," But this I do deny, Because of that which came to pass, But not to pass me by.

A body weighing by the pound Inside of half a score, In case and cordage safely bound, Was landed at my door.

What could it be? for friends are slack, And give, I rather trow, When they are sure of getting back As much as they bestow.

My hair, at thought of dark design, Or dynamitish fate, Stood up like quills of porcupine, But more than twice as straight.

Anon, I mused on something rare, Like duck or terrapin, But dreamed not, of the parcel, there Might be a pullet-in.

A mighty jerk,--the string that broke The fowl affair revealed, The victim of a cruel choke, Its neck completely peeled.

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