The Hatband

My hatband goes around my hat,
And while there's nothing strange in that,
It seems just like a lazy man
Who leaves off where he first began.

But then this fact is always true,
The band does what it ought to do,
And is more useful than the man,
Because it does the best it can.

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

Love

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Valentines From A Bibliophile

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

The Stranger-Man

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

Valentines From A Hyperbolist

Arthur Macy, Simple Poetry

English

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That Old Straw Hat Of Mine.

(With Apologies To Riley.)


I.

As one who dreams at evening o'er the new hats that he's worn,
And muses on the better times that once to him were known,
So I turn the leaves of fancy till, in shadowy design,
I see the faded ribbon on that old straw hat of mine.


II.

The firelight seems to mock me as the ruddy flames arise,
And I turn about to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes;
And I ponder then in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke
Its fate with my condition, and to vanish like the smoke.


III.

With fondest recollection the loving thoughts that start
Into being are but feelings from the bottom of my heart;
And to wear the new hats over is a luxury divine--
Till my truant fancy wanders with that old straw hat of...

George W. Doneghy

The Indifferent Mariner

I'm a tough old salt, and it's never I care
    A penny which way the wind is,
Or whether I sight Cape Finisterre,
    Or make a port at the Indies.

Some folks steer for a port to trade,
    And some steer north for the whaling;
Yet never I care a damn just where
    I sail, so long's I'm sailing.

You never can stop the wind when it blows,
    And you can't stop the rain from raining;
Then why, oh, why, go a-piping of your eye
    When there's no sort o' use in complaining?

My face is browned and my lungs are sound,
    And my hands they are big and calloused.
I've a little brown jug I sometimes hug,
    And a little bread and meat for ballast.

But I keep no log of my daily grog,
    For what's the use o' being bothered?
I dri...

Arthur Macy

To M. E.

We keep in step as years roll by;
    You march behind and I before: -
The path is new to you; but I
    Have passed the ground you're walking o'er.
Yet I march on with measured tread,
    And looking back, I smile and greet you: -
I fear the order, "Halt!" Instead,
    Would I might countermarch and meet you.

Arthur Macy

Poor Old Hat.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! like misen tha's grown
An fowk call us old fashioned an odd;
But monny's the storm we have met sin that day,
When aw bowt thee all shiny an snod.
As aw walked along th' street wi thee peearkt o' mi broo,
Fowk's manners wor cappin to see;
An aw thowt it wor me they bade 'ha do yo do,'
But aw know nah they nodded at thee.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! aw mun cast thee aside,
For awr friendship has lasted too long;
Tho' tha still art mi comfort, an once wor mi pride,
Tha'rt despised i' this world's giddy throng.
Dooant think me ungrateful, or call me unkind,
If another aw put i thi place;
For aw think tha'll admit if tha'll oppen thi mind,
Tha can bring me nowt moor but disgrace.

Poor old hat! poor old hat! varry sooin it may...

John Hartley

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,<...

Arthur Macy

The Moper

The Moper mopeth all the day;
    He mopeth eke at night;
And never is the Moper gay,
But, grim and serious alway,
    He is a sorry sight.

He liketh not the merry quip;
    He hateth other men;
Escheweth he companionship,
Nor doth he e'er essay to trip
    The light fantastic ten.

He seeketh not where murm'ring brooks
    With rippling music flow.
He seeth naught in woman's looks,
And never readeth he in books
    Except they tell of woe.

He e'en forgetteth that the sun,
    Likewise God's balmy air,
Were made to gladden every one;
But he preferreth both to shun,
    And taketh not his share.

He careth not for merry wights
    Who drink Château Yquem,
But he would set the world to rights
By peopling i...

Arthur Macy