Here And There

Sweet Phyllis went a-rambling here and there,
            Here and there.
Her eyes were blue and golden was her hair.
    She said, "Oh, life is strange;
    I'm sure I need a change;
'Tis sad for one to ramble here and there,
            Here and there."

Young Strephon went a-rambling here and there,
            Here and there.
He sighed, "It needs but two to make a pair.
    If I should meet a maid
    Not in the least afraid,
How happy we'd go rambling here and there,
            Here and there."

As youth and maid went rambling here and there,
            Here and there,
They met, and loved at sight, for both were fair;
    And neither youth nor maid
    Was in the least afraid,
And hand in hand they ramble here and there,
            Here and there.

Arthur Macy

Arthur Macy was an American poet known for his contributions during the 19th century. Born on June 6, 1842, he became widely recognized for his poignant and evocative verses, which often reflected themes of nature and human emotion. His poetry gained considerable respect and admiration during his lifetime. He passed away on June 1, 1904.

Arthur Macy

The Oyster

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Thistle-Down

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Disenchantment

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Dinner Favors, To S. B. F.

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

English

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The Little Maid's eyes had a rainbow hue,
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Arthur Macy

Dainty Little Love

Dainty little Love came tripping
    Down the hill,
Smiling as he thought of sipping
    Sweets at will.
        SHE said, "No,
        Love must go."
Dainty little Love came tripping
    Down the hill.

Dainty little Love went sighing
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    Love was ill.
        Vain he tried
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Dainty little Love went sighing
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Arthur Macy

Were All The World Like You

Were all the world like you, my dear,
    Were all the world like you,
Oh, there'd be darts in all our hearts
    From sunset to the dew.
For life would be Love's jubilee
    Where all were two and two,
And lovers' rhyme the only crime,
    Were all the world like you, my dear,
    Were all the world like you.

Were all the world like you, my dear,
    Were all the world like you,
There'd be no pain nor clouds nor rain,
    No kisses overdue;
But sweetest sighs and pleading eyes,
    Where Cupid's arrow flew,
And lovers' rhyme the only crime,
    Were all the world like you, my dear,
    Were all the world like you.

Arthur Macy

At Marliave's

At Marliave's when eventide
Finds rare companions at my side,
    The laughter of each merry guest
    At quaint conceit, or kindly jest,
Makes golden moments swiftly glide.
No voice unkind our faults to chide,
Our smallest virtue magnified;
    And friendly hand to hand is pressed
                        At Marliave's.

I lay my years and cares aside
Accepting what the gods provide,
    I ask not for a lot more blest,
    Nor do I crave a sweeter rest
Than that which comes with eventide
                        At Marliave's.

Arthur Macy

The Old Cafe

You know,
Don't you, Joe,
Those merry evenings long ago?
You know the room, the narrow stair,
The wreaths of smoke that circled there,
The corner table where we sat
For hours in after-dinner chat,
And magnified
Our little world inside.
You know,
Don't you, Joe?

Ah, those nights divine!
The simple, frugal wine,
The airs on crude Italian strings,
The joyous, harmless revelings,
Just fit for us - or kings!
At times a quaint and wickered flask
Of rare Chianti, or from the homelier cask
Of modest Pilsener a stein or so,
Amid the merry talk would flow;
Or red Bordeaux
From vines that grew where dear Montaigne
Held his domain.
And you remember that dark eye,
None too shy;
In fact, she seemed a bit too free
For y...

Arthur Macy

Love

[TRIO]


Oh, love hits all humanity, humanity, my dear;
But after all it's vanity, a vanity, I fear;
And sometimes 'tis insanity, insanity, so queer;
    Humanity, yes, a vanity, yes, insanity so queer.
And love is often curious, so curious to see,
And oftentimes is spurious, so spurious, ah, me!
And surely 'tis injurious, injurious when free,
    So curious, yes, and spurious, yes, injurious when free.

Oh, love brings much anxiety, anxiety and grief,
But seasoned with propriety, propriety, relief,
It's mixed with joy and piety, but piety is brief;
    Anxiety, yes, propriety, yes, but piety is brief.
Oh, young love's all timidity, timidity, I'm told,
Gains courage with rapidity, rapidity, so bold,
With traces of acidity, acidity, when old;
   ...

Arthur Macy