The Jumble Book of Rhymes Part 3

Aw, cut it, kid! Dis lovin' gag Don't make no hit wid me; I've went de route and ought ter know-- Fer, ain't I married? Gee!

Dere's nuthin to it, foolish man; None of 'em's what dey seems, De game's a bunk, Kid, all way tru-- Wake up, fergit dem dreams!

_Most earnestly the Jumbler presents his views on Serious Matters pertaining to Love and Life._

FICKLENESS OF MAIDENS.

CONSTANCY--AS APPLIED TO ONE MAN.

THE ONE AND THE ONLY.

HANDLE WITH CARE.

MY GARDEN.

MY THRENODY.

ETERNITY.

Fickleness of Maidens

"Good-bye," I said to Mary, To Margie, Maud and May; And I put them from me harshly And turned myself away.

For my _all in all_ was Maizie-- I swore it on that day.

But time came when my spirit Grew weary of its pace, And I cried, "Come back, dear ex-ones, I'm sick of just one face!"

But they replied, "We cannot, Another has your place."

(_After Dunbar_)

[Ill.u.s.tration:]

Constancy--As Applied to One Man

A man by Nature ne'er was meant To love one maid alone-- E'en if by doing so he'd gain A seat upon a throne.

Polygamous when 'comes to love-- (Be diff'rent no man can) Monogony's monotony When 'plied to love of man!

Yet here am I! ('gainst Nature's law)-- _Mirabile dictu_-- Loving one maid, and just ONE (_sic_), Exclusively and true!

As other men, I liv'd and lov'd Until you came my way-- Now all my love is yours, O Queen, Forever and a day!

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Dear, dear dead loves, one last farewell!

Your graves no more I'll tend; Your ghosts, whom I have welcomed oft, Their visits now must end.

Sweet girls, whom I have lov'd--and lost-- Loved? Yes, but for a day-- I now have found my Queen of Hearts Whom I can love alway.

I once thought that I lov'd you well-- But O! the love I feel For my dear Queen is diff'rent quite-- And it's the love that's real.

My Queen now has each thought, each dream; No more I'll think of you-- Love was, love's past for all save her-- So, ex-loves all, adieu.

Handle With Care

The tangible always is frangible. (Proven long since, I take it). By chance or by art you've taken hold of my heart-- But please, Little Girl, don't break it!

The One and The Only

Hundreds of maids in this world have been born With many a charm that allures, dear; Hundreds are radiant, fair as the morn-- But never were eyes just like yours dear.

Hundreds boast beauty of form and of face, Which always devotion a.s.sures, dear; Hundreds personification of grace, But none has a smile just like yours, dear.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

Hundreds accomplished in letters and song, And hundreds attractive and clever; Daily I walk through this limitless throng, Yet find none compares with you--ever.

If from these hundreds an artist should mould A composite maid, near perfection; Stand her beside you, to choose I be told-- My dear, can't you guess my selection?

Hundreds and millions of maids there may be, And yet, without you I'd be lonely.

Pray be convinced, for I speak truthfully: Dear, you are the ONE AND THE ONLY.

My Garden

I wander into my garden, My garden of loves that are dead, And stop at a withered rose bush That once grew a blossom of red.

How pa.s.sionately, true I loved it, Thought without it I could not abide-- How bitter it is to remember In a night it had withered and died.

The violet that grew on the hillside I loved with a love that was true; But 'twas s.n.a.t.c.hed from me e'en as I held it-- O, Violet, dear, how I loved you!

And dearest of all, the sweet June Rose, As a bud she'd come out first that year; But I lost her just as I'd plucked her-- The heartless and pitiless dear!

The lily and pink that I wors.h.i.+pped Each deigned but a season to stay, And returned not again though I waited And longed for them many a day.

Dear loves that are dead, hear me say it: A loving good-bye to you all!

No more shall I visit this garden, For my true love grows just o'er the wall.