Black Beetles in Amber - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 97

FOUR OF A KIND

ROBERT F. MORROW

Dear man! although a stranger and a foeTo soft affection's humanizing glow;Although untaught how manly hearts may throbWith more desires than the desire to rob;Although as void of tenderness as wit,And owning nothing soft but Maurice Schmitt;Although polluted, shunned and in disgrace,You fill me with a passion to embrace!Attentive to your look, your smile, your beck,I watch and wait to fall upon your neck.Lord of my love, and idol of my hope,You are my Valentine, and I'm A ROPE.

ALFRED CLARKE JR.

Illustrious son of an illustrious sire—Entrusted with the duty to cry "Fire!"And call the engines out, exert your powerWith care. When, looking from your lofty tower,You see a ruddy light on every wall,Pause for a moment ere you sound the call:It may be from a fire, it may be, too,From good men's blushes when they think of you.

JUDGE RUTLEDGE

Sultan of Stupids! with enough of brainsTo go indoors in all uncommon rains,But not enough to stay there when the stormIs past. When all the world is dry and warm,In irking comfort, lamentably gay,Keeping the evil tenor of your way,You walk abroad, sweet, beautiful and smug,And Justice hears you with her wonted shrug,Lifts her broad bandage half-an-inch and keepsOne eye upon you while the other weeps.

W.H.L. BARNES

Happy the man who sin's proverbial wageReceives on the instalment plan—in age.For him the bulldog pistol's honest barkHas naught of terror in its blunt remark.He looks with calmness on the gleaming steel—If e'er it touched his heart he did not feel:Superior hardness turned its point away,Though urged by fond affinity to stay;His bloodless veins ignored the futile stroke,And moral mildew kept the cut in cloak.Happy the man, I say, to whom the wageOf sin has been commuted into age.Yet not quite happy—hark, that horrid cry!—His cruel mirror wounds him in the eye!