26
Poems
Blot out the dear memory of friends leal and true,
Nor those merry old days that are gone.
Nor those merry old days that are gone.
And, Laddie,—as Sénor Eladio, I know
I shall see him, a crowned prince of song,
Bow low to the thousand who hang on his voice,
And smile at the rapturous throng.
The feted of many, the worshiped of all,
Still his heart will turn back I am sure,
To the days of the studio,—dear vanished days,
When we all were so rich, although poor.
I shall see him, a crowned prince of song,
Bow low to the thousand who hang on his voice,
And smile at the rapturous throng.
The feted of many, the worshiped of all,
Still his heart will turn back I am sure,
To the days of the studio,—dear vanished days,
When we all were so rich, although poor.
And she, my girl friend, with the tender brown eyes,
What future does Fate hold in store?
A wife and a mother, a life wisely planned,
What woman could ask any more?
I can fancy her saying to girl number four,
"I'm surprised at you Maud and ashamed,
That a daughter of mine should have smoked cigarettes,
And a cock-tail should never be named
By a well-bred young lady whose mother aspires
To win yet a title for you.
What future does Fate hold in store?
A wife and a mother, a life wisely planned,
What woman could ask any more?
I can fancy her saying to girl number four,
"I'm surprised at you Maud and ashamed,
That a daughter of mine should have smoked cigarettes,
And a cock-tail should never be named
By a well-bred young lady whose mother aspires
To win yet a title for you.
So leave those low tastes to the artists and such,
They know nothing better! pray do!"
They know nothing better! pray do!"
