Git hout, yer nahsty grabber yer; hewacuate the stoop.”

Then when the snow had melted off, Fitzjohn Augustus went

And humbly asked his master for two dollars that he’d spent

In paying Napolini di Vendetta Pasquarelle;

While Nap went back to Italy, the land that loved him well,

Convinced that when he sailed that time his country to forsake,

He must have got aboard the ship when he was half awake,

And got to London, not New York, by some most odd mistake.

MY COLOR

My best-loved color? Well, I think I like

My

A soft and tender dewy green—for grass.

Sometimes a pink my fancy too will strike—

In lobster purée or a Sauterne glass.

Blue is a color, too, I greatly love.

It’s sort of satisfying to my eyes.

’Tis their own color; and I’m quite fond of

This hue also for soft Italian skies.

For blushes, give me red, nor hesitate

To pile it on; I like it good and strong

 Prev. P 26/63 next