SHINGLE-SHORT
To Make? What have I been an’ done,
To get so double-tiled in parts?
Look! There it is, in there! An’—Oh,
There’s tears an’ triumph in my brain!
The pleasure of it’s sharp like pain—
It scares me! Oh, it wants two hearts,
To hold it an’ not overflow!
My dingy day’s one blaze o’ Bright!—
All’s tuned! there’s everythin’ come Right!
Oh, who am I, what have I done,
God! what am I? to be so blest.
....A grain more glad, an’ I’ll go mad....
It’s done! I done it! an’ it’s Done!
Guess I’ll go in, an’ get some rest.
(Goes and sits down by the fire, which is nearly out. After an interval,)
Can’t rest....
There’s folk with heaps more wit—
Micky, an’ Boss,—all hands an’ thought,
Don’ seem to get no good of it:
Never hear they’ve invented aught?
They’re circ’lar saws, a-cuttin’ planks—
I’m band-saw, reggular up to pranks.
They rides on metal, an’ tween banks—
Bush, I’m let survey an’ explore.
Their contrack’s labell’d “As Before”—
While I—Thank God! my order’s sent
To heave an’ haul things different:
So’s out o’ Nothin’ to make Some,
An’ out o’ Some to make Some More;
An’ thoughts, like shavin’s from your plane,
Drops down upon me now ’n again....
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