TRUTH is enough for prose:
Calmly it goes
To tell just what it knows.
For verse, skill will suffice-
Delicate, nice
Casting of verbal dice.
Poetry, men attain
By subtler pain
More flagrant in the brain-
An honesty unfeigned,
A heart unchained,
A madness well restrained.
by Christopher Morley
Dynamo of strength uncurbed,
Boundless might, undisciplined;
Energies still undisturbed,
Power, unharnessed as the wind–
Huge, inchoate commonweal,
Lo, at last we catch the thrill:
Now we found and forge the steel,
Scoop a channel for the will.
Here we stand; and destiny
Now admits us no retreat:
Hearts are braced from sea to sea,
Hark! I hear the marching feet!
Hills are moved; streams faster run;
Plumper kernels fill the wheat,
Now we dream and do as one….
Hark! I hear the marching feet!
by Christopher Morley
Animal crackers and cocoa to drink,
That is the finest of suppers I think;
When I’m grown up and can have what I please
I think I shall always insist upon these.
What do YOU choose when you’re offered a treat?
When Mother says, ‘What would you like best to eat?’
Is it waffles and syrup, or cinnamon toast?
It’s cocoa and animals that I love most!
The kitchen’s the cosiest place that I know;
The kettle is singing, the stove is aglow,
And there in the twilight, how jolly to see
The cocoa and animals waiting for me.
Daddy and Mother dine later in state,
With Mary to cook for them, Susan to wait;
But they don’t have nearly as much fun as I
Who eat in the kitchen with Nurse standing by;
And Daddy once said, he would like to be me
Having cocoa and animals once more for tea.
by Christopher Morley
To an Irish Wolf Hound
Long and grey and gaunt he lies,
A Lincoln among dogs; his eyes,
Deep and clear of sight, appraise
The meaningless and shuffling ways
Of human folk that stop to stare.
One witless woman seeing there
How tired, how contemptuous
He is of all the smell and fuss
Asks him, “Poor fellow, are you sick?”
Yea, sick, and weary to the quick
Of heat and noise from dawn to dark.
He will not even stoop to bark
His protest, like the lesser bred.
Would he might know, one gazer read
The wistful longing in his face,
The thirst for wind and open space
And stretch of limbs to him begrudged.
There came a little, dapper, fat
And bustling man, with cane and spat
And pearl-grey vest and derby hat–
Such were the judger and the judged!
by Christopher Morley
