Till his hair fell out and his cheeks fell in,

And his corpulent figure grew long and lank.

 At Whitsuntide he up and died, While flaying himself for his final spree. And who shall say whether ’twas liquor or leather That hurried him into eternity?

At Whitsuntide he up and died,

While flaying himself for his final spree.

And who shall say whether ’twas liquor or leather

That hurried him into eternity?

 They made him a saint, as well they might, And gave him a beautiful aureole. And—somehow or other, this circle of light Suggests the rim of the Flowing Bowl.

They made him a saint, as well they might,

And gave him a beautiful aureole.

And—somehow or other, this circle of light

Suggests the rim of the Flowing Bowl.

[Pg 14]

[Pg 14]

TO A TALL SPRUCE

  Pride of the forest primeval, Peer of the glorious pine, Doomed to an end that is evil, Fearful the fate that is thine!

  Peer of the glorious pine, Now the landlooker has found you, Fearful the fate that is thine—  Fate of the spruces around you.

  Now the landlooker has found you, Stripped of your beautiful plume—  Fate of the spruces around you—  Swiftly you’ll draw to your doom.

  Stripped of your beautiful plume, Bzzng! into logs they will whip you. Swiftly you’ll draw to your doom; To the pulp mill they will ship you.

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