Costlier yet to be waking!

Costly for one who is wed!

Ruinous for one who is raking!

Tradespeople, ducking and draking, Charge you as much as they dare, Asking, without any faking, All that the traffic will bear.

Roof that goes over our head, Thirst so expensive for slaking, Paper, apparel, and lead-- Why are their prices at breaking?

Yet, though our purses be aching, Little the traffickers care; Getting, for chopping and steaking, All that the traffic will bear.

L'ENVOI

Take thou my verses, I pray, King, Letting my guerdon be fair.

Even a bard must be making All that the traffic will bear.

To W. Hohenzollern, on Discontinuing The Conning Tower

William, it was, I think, three years ago-- As I recall, one cool October morning-- (You have _The Tribune_ files; I think they'll show I gave you warning).

I said, in well-selected words and terse, In phrases balanced, yet replete with power, That I should cease to pen the prose and verse Known as The Tower.

That I should stop this Labyrinth of Light-- Though stopping make the planet leaden-hearted-- Unless you stopped the well-known _Schrecklichkeit_ Your nation started.

I printed it in type that you could read; My paragraphs were thewed, my rhymes were sinewed.

You paid, I judge from what ensued, no heed ...

The war continued.

And though my lines with fort.i.tude were fraught, Although my words were strong, and stripped of stuffing, You, William, thought--oh, yes, you did--you thought That I was bluffing.

You thought that I would fail to see it through!

You thought that, at the crux of things, I'd cower!

How little, how imperfectly you knew The Conning Tower!

You'll miss the column at the break of day.

I have no fear that I shall be forgotten.

You'll miss the daily privilege to say: "That stuff is rotten!"

Or else--as sometimes has occurred--when I Have chanced upon a lucky line to blunder, You'll miss the precious privilege to cry: "That bird's a wonder!"

Well, William, when your people cease to strafe, When you have put an end to all this war stuff, When all the world is reasonably safe, I'll write some more stuff.

And when you miss the quip and wanton wile, And learn you can't endure the Towerless season, O William, I shall not be petty ... I'll Listen to reason.

_October 5, 1917._

To W. Hohenzollern, on Resuming The Conning Tower

Well, William, since I wrote you long ago-- As I recall, one cool October morning-- (I have _The Tribune_ files. They clearly show I gave you warning.)

Since when I penned that consequential ode, The world has seen a vast amount of slaughter, And under many a Gallic bridge has flowed A lot of water.

I said that when your people ceased to strafe, That when you'd put an end to all this war stuff, And all the world was reasonably safe I'd write some more stuff;

That when you missed the quip and wanton wile And learned you couldn't bear a Towerless season, I quote: "O, I shall not be petty.... I'll Listen to reason."

_Labuntur anni_, not to say _Eheu Fugaces_! William, by my shoulders glistening!

I have the final laugh, for it was you Who did the listening.

_January 15, 1919._

Thoughts on the Cosmos

I

I do not hold with him who thinks The world is jonahed by a jinx; That everything is sad and sour, And life a withered hothouse flower.

II

I hate the Pollyanna pest Who says that All Is for the Best, And hold in high, unhidden scorn Who sees the Rose, nor feels the Thorn.

III

I do not like extremists who Are like the pair in (I) and (II); But how I hate the wabbly gink, Like me, who knows not what to think!

On Environment

I used to think that this environ- Ment talk was all a lot of guff; Place mattered not with Keats and Byron Stuff.

If I have thoughts that need disclosing, Bright be the day or hung with gloom, I'll write in Heaven or the composing- Room.

Times are when with my nerves a-tingle, Joyous and bright the songs I sing; Though, gay, I can't dope out a single Thing.

And yet, by way of ill.u.s.tration, The G.o.ds my graying head anoint ...