Read Ebook: Songs for a Little House by Morley Christopher

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Ebook has 264 lines and 19279 words, and 6 pages

A HANDFUL OF SONNETS

I . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 49 II . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50 PEDOMETER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 51 ARS DURA . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 52 O. HENRY--APOTHECARY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53 FOR THE CENTENARY OF KEATS'S SONNET . . . . . . . 54 TWO O'CLOCK . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 55 THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 56 THE WEDDED LOVER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 57 TO YOU, REMEMBERING THE PAST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 58 THE LAST SONNET . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 59

THE WAR

IRONY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 63 TO A FRENCH BABY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 64 AFTER HEARING GERMAN MUSIC . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 65 IN MEMORY OF THE AMERICAN AVIATORS KILLED IN FRANCE . . 66 THE FLAGS ON FIFTH AVENUE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67 "THEY" . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68 BALLAD OF FRENCH RIVERS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 70 PEASANT AND KING . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 72 TILL TWISTON WENT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 74 TO RUDYARD KIPLING . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 76 TO A U-BOAT . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77 KITCHENER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 78 MARCH 1915 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 79 DEAD SHIPS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 80 ENGLAND, JULY 1913 . . . . . . . . . 81 TO THE OXFORD MEN IN THE WAR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85 FOR THE PRESENT TIME . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 87 AMERICA, 1917 . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 89 ON VIMY RIDGE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 90

HAY FEVER, AND OTHER LITERARY POLLEN

HAY FEVER, IF RUDYARD KIPLING HAD IT . . . . . . . . . . 93 HAY FEVER, IF AMY LOWELL HAD IT . . . . . . . . . . . . 94 HAY FEVER, IF HILAIRE BELLOC HAD IT . . . . . . . . . . 96 HAY FEVER, IF EDGAR LEE MASTERS HAD IT . . . . . . . . . 97 HYMN TO THE DAIRYMAIDS ON BEACON STREET . . . . . . . . 98 ON FIRST LOOKING INTO A SUBWAY EXCAVATION . . . . . . . 100 BALLAD OF NEW AMSTERDAM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101 CASUALTY . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 102 AT THE WOMEN'S CLUBS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 103 ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COAL-BIN . . . . . . . . . . 105 MOONS WE SAW AT SEVENTEEN . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107 AT THE DOG SHOW . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 108 THE OLD SWIMMER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110 TO ALL MY FRIENDS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 112 A GRUB STREET RECESSIONAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113

SONGS FOR A LITTLE HOUSE

BAYBERRY CANDLES

Dear sweet, when dusk comes up the hill, The fire leaps high with golden prongs; I place along the chimneysill The tiny candles of my songs.

And though unsteadily they burn, As evening shades from grey to blue Like candles they will surely learn To shine more clear, for love of you.

SECRET LAUGHTER

"I had a secret laughter." --Walter de la Mare.

A CHARM

For Our New Fireplace, To Stop Its Smoking

O wood, burn bright; O flame, be quick; O smoke, draw cleanly up the flue-- My lady chose your every brick And sets her dearest hopes on you!

And then, dear books, dear waiting chairs, Dear china and mahogany, Draw close, for on the happy stairs My brown-eyed girl comes down for tea!

He is so small, he does not know The summer sun, the winter snow; The spring that ebbs and comes again, All this is far beyond his ken.

A little world he feels and sees: His mother's arms, his mother's knees; He hides his face against her breast, And does not care to learn the rest.

THE YOUNG MOTHER

Of what concern are wars to her, Or treaties broken on the seas? Or all the cruelties of men? She has her baby on her knees.

In blessed singleness of heart, What heed has she for nations' wrath? She sings a little peaceful hymn As she prepares the baby's bath.

As in a dream, she hears the talk Of mine, torpedo, bomb and gun-- She shudders, but her thoughts are all Encradled with her little son.

PETER PAN

"The boy for whom Barrie wrote Peter Pan--the original of Peter Pan--has died in battle." --New York Times.

And Peter Pan is dead? not so! When mothers turn the lights down low And tuck their little sons in bed, They know that Peter is not dead....

That little rounded blanket-hill; Those prayer-time eyes, so deep and still-- However wise and great a man He grows, he still is Peter Pan.

And mothers' ways are often queer: They pause in doorways, just to hear A tiny breathing; think a prayer; And then go tiptoe down the stair.

THE 5:42

Lilac, violet, and rose Ardently the city glows; Sunset glory, purely sweet, Gilds the dreaming byway-street, And, above the Avenue, Winter dusk is deepening blue.

Then at last All the way is overpast. Heart that beats your muffled drum, Lo, your venturer is come! Wide the door! Leap high, O fire! Home at length is heart's desire! Gone is weariness and fret, At the sill warm lips are met. Once again may be renewed The conjoined beatitude.

READING ALOUD

Once we read Tennyson aloud In our great fireside chair; Between the lines, my lips could touch Her April-scented hair.

How very fond I was, to think The printed poems fair, When close within my arms I held A living lyric there!

THE MOON-SHEEP

The moon seems like a docile sheep, She pastures while all people sleep; But sometimes, when she goes astray, She wanders all alone by day.

Up in the clear blue morning air We are surprised to see her there, Grazing in her woolly white, Waiting the return of night.

When dusk lets down the meadow bars She greets again her lambs, the stars!

MAR QUONG, CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN

I like the Chinese laundryman: He smokes a pipe that bubbles, And seems, as far as I can tell, A man with but few troubles. He has much to do, no doubt, But also, much to think about.

Most men Are spending, at all times, All our hard-earned quarters, Our nickels and our dimes: With Mar Quong it's the other way-- He takes in small change every day.

Next time you call for collars In his steamy little shop, Observe how tight his pigtail Is coiled and piled on top. But late at night he lets it hang And thinks of the Yang-tse-kiang.

THE MILKMAN

Early in the morning, when the dawn is on the roofs, You hear his wheels come rolling, you hear his horse's hoofs; You hear the bottles clinking, and then he drives away: You yawn in bed, turn over, and begin another day!

IN HONOUR OF TAFFY TOPAZ

Taffy, the topaz-coloured cat, Thinks now of this and now of that, But chiefly of his meals. Asparagus, and cream, and fish, Are objects of his Freudian wish; What you don't give, he steals.

His amiable amber eyes Are very friendly, very wise; Like Buddha, grave and fat, He sits, regardless of applause, And thinking, as he kneads his paws, What fun to be a cat!

THE CEDAR CHEST

Her mind is like her cedar chest Wherein in quietness do rest The wistful dreamings of her heart In fragrant folds all laid apart.

There, put away in sprigs of rhyme Until her life's full blossom-time, Flutter Her small and sweet maternal words.

O PRAISE ME NOT THE COUNTRY

O praise me not the country-- The meadows green and cool, The solemn glow of sunsets, the hidden silver pool! The city for my craving, Her lordship and her slaving, The hot stones of her paving For me, a city fool!

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