Part 9 (1/2)
NOVEMBER
Poets may proclaim the praises Of some fragrant April day, Search their lexicons for phrases To describe the dew-drenched daisies Of each merry May; Minor bards may work like n.i.g.g.e.rs, Framing epic rhyme or rune, To extol the timely rigours Of an English June; Though its charms I well remember, I prefer November!
Though the tourists sing together When July is warm and bright, While to sportsmen on the heather, Bent on bagging fur and feather, August brings delight; Though September's seldom stormy, And October, chill and dry, Carries joy to every Dormy- House from Wick to Rye; Yet (since I am not a member) I prefer November!
In the street the slime may spatter Ev'ry wretched pa.s.ser-by; Hail and sleet and snow may batter On my window-pane--what matter?
What on earth care I?
Other months may be less muddy, Or a fairer face present; In my cheerful firelit study I am quite content!
Seated by the glowing ember, I prefer November!
THE CYNIC'S CHRISTMAS
Christmas is here! Let us deck ev'ry dwelling With evergreen branches and mistletoe boughs!
With thoughts philanthropic our bosoms are swelling, No shadow should darken our brows!
(But, alas! when we're fixing festoons to the ceiling, The ladders we stand on are apt to give way, When a desolate feeling comes over us stealing; 'Tis hard to be merry and gay!
And it's difficult, too, to feel thoroughly jolly When painfully punctured by pieces of holly!)
Christmas is here! Let the plums and the suet Be mingled once more in ungrudging supplies!
Let the lover of punch hasten swiftly to brew it!
Make ready a score of mince-pies!
(But, alas! let us not be completely forgetful Of how indigestion is fostered and bred, How a surfeit of food makes the family fretful, While alcohol flies to the head; Lest a fortnight devoted to over-nutrition Entail a recourse to the nearest physician!)
Christmas is here! Ev'ry mother shall borrow Her spouse's best stockings to tie to the cot Of the baby, who hopes they'll contain, on the morrow, Drums, trumpets, and goodness knows what!
(But it's rather a blow when the footwear allotted To hang full of goodies and toys through the night, Is returned to its owner, misshapen and clotted With toffee and Turkish Delight; While a drum is a bore if you constantly thump it, And life can be poisoned by sounds from a trumpet!)
[Ill.u.s.tration]
Christmas is here! All our nephews and nieces Troop happily home to delight us at Yule!
We rejoice when the holiday season releases The inmates of college and school!
(But perhaps when at dawn they awake us by shouting 'When Shepherds'--a hymn which they sing out of tune-- They may furnish some fifty good reasons for doubting If holidays _are_ such a boon; And even the kindliest relative wearies Of constantly answering juvenile queries!)
Christmas is here! Little children excited Make domiciles vocal with shrieks of applause, As they ask that the candle-decked fir-tree be lighted, In honour of kind Santa Claus!