I am the scarecrow. But for trouble made
A fleeting puff of wind- and I am gone.
Take from my lips the pipe, and I must fade
As darkness fades before the rosy dawn.
So think of me, and take me not too deep
Within your scheme of living. 'Tis unwise
To build air-castles on rubbish heap,
Or hold a bubble as a thing to prize.
Yet let me float around you for a while
Reflecting borrowed beauty from your face;
With feeble rhyme, and jest, to woo your smile
'Til Time, at last, may bring me greater grace.
Until this form of cinders and of chaff
Shall grow a soul, and learn to lose- and laugh!
That life is but a hoary wheeze,
In fancy, most compelling;
Unlike all other fantasies
It loses in the telling.
In youth full many days I spent
Within the jaws of discontent,
As Love, and strong Ambition preyed
upon me.
>From bitter fruit, and garnered rues,
And prizes striven for- to lose,
At length realization came to stun me,
That Life is but an ancient jest
Grown dull from too much using,
And ever those who learn it best
Must find it least amusing.
Still let the optimistic sing
That beauty lives in everything.
Existence just a bowl of milk
and honey.
I have Father Time's debenture,
Death is now the Great Adventure.
Truth, ungilded, is but seldom funny.
For Life is but a musty joke
Of now, before, and after,
Whose pointless wit we all invoke
To dry our tears with laughter.
Whose mouth remembers bitter food,
Appreciates the savor
Of something tasty, sweet, and good,
And hungers for its flavor.
So, if on former loves I touch,
Against me hold no score;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Had I not loved before !
Whether his soul from the clay was torn
To ride the sky, or to earth reborn,
Or waits with this dust the judgement morn,
He knows- but you must guess.
He sought the better, and found the worse,
'Til he rode away, in a quiet hearse,
From the power of Penury to curse,
The strength of Love to bless.
Now here he lies, who could not attain
The castles built by his fevered brain,
Or joy that his heart reached for in vain,
Consumed by an inward fire.
At last, in a darkness still and deep,
Where no pulse may throb no eye may weep,
The dreamer welcomes a dreamless sleep
And the end of vain desire.
Each against each exerts his might,
Nor either will yield or budge;
And one is wrong, and one is right,
And only God may judge !
When Truth and Honor on Love's alter laid
As offering, find but small recompense,
A mortal passion can not long be stayed
As idealism yields to commonsense.
Those who do give a heart in fee and trust
May learn their lesson by the hardest rules;
For tears of Angels ever lay the dust
Behind earth's blund'ring caravan of fools
Who mourn for days that Time has thrust behind
When Love and Faith were beautiful, and blind !
Not of warm flesh and blood to me you seem,
But marvelous mirage, adored afar
As drug-addicts may crave the poppy-dream,
Or flutt'ring moths adore the evening star.
So must I worship you, as one apart,
Devoted to the glamour of your charms;
Nor ever take the image to my heart
For fear it melt- and vanish from my arms.
And strive my restless spirit to compel,
Lest it should dare too much,
and break the spell.
More intriguing than going new places,
Greater risk than an aeroplane ride,
More exciting than holding four aces,
And finer and stronger than pride;
Far more soothing than soft music playing,
And a pipe, in the gathering dusk;
More mournful than coonhounds a-baying,
Much richer than spices or musk;
Beyond all the kick of a highball,
More potent than champagne or gin;
There isn't a cure although I try all
No jot of relief may I win!
It has got me all nervous and twitching,
But the antidote's too far above
My reach, so I suffer the itching
Of that dreadful disease they call Love.
Dull on my ear each breeze's bitter sigh
Will taunt a heart your mem'ry preys upon;
Whispering, "Prayer was vain, and Hope a Lie !"
When you are gone.
To broken ties, no more is faith a debt;
Yet sensuous baubles, lately put in pawn,
Refunded will not help me to forget,
When you are gone.
May happiness your every moment bless !
But loneliness will gnaw me as a beast
At thought of lips once granted me to press,
When you are gone.
Go when you may, my heart shall be, until
To Death's dark Doorway, wearily, I've won,
An emptiness that nothing quite may fill,
When you are gone.
For I would paint a pattern on your heart.
With careful hand the pigments I would fuse.
Perhaps you'd let me go on from the start,
And these, then, are the colors I should use;
Crimson of blood that pounds in every vein,
Blue that is truth, and faith of great extent.
Crimson of ecstasy akin to pain,
Blue of a full-fed soul, and much content.
Then might the crimson and the blue so blend
In every tiny memory of me,
That they may linger with you to the end
To color many a lonely reverie.
That when your fancy sails down misty streams,
I'll come again to you, in purple dreams.
With Destiny, who can conspire?
Who knows how long I hold you nigh,
Within my arms?
But this I never can deny,
Oft-times I have a great desire
That you might feel the self same fire
Burning on me, when e'er you lie
Within my arms.
Unless I shake your magic from my mind
Little the good experience can do.
Indeed, if you persist in being kind,
All I'll desire is more and more of you.
When I'm sober I'm just a nobody
And few people see me at all,
But when I am liquored 'tis different
Then I've got a bit on the ball.
I get up and sing, and I'm careless
As to whether it's music or smut;
If I can attract folks' attention
I am happy and nothing else but.
Good Lord! how it swells up my ego
To know that they're looking at me!
And I feel like a man in a million
Instead of the jackass I be.
When everyone's eyes are upon me
I float in a fool's paradise,
And nothing at all could convince me
That my song's neither witty nor nice.
The sober ones know I'm a moron
With an IQ that's less than a louse,
But while I can stand in the limelight
I feel like a man not a mouse.
And when I wake up with a headache
I won't care what happened, or when,
For my brain is too small to accuse me
Of being the fool that I've been.