Results for ‘POEMS’
[Welland Telegraph November 4, 1941]
Once France was gay, her cities bright,
Her people brave and true;
No tragic hint of war or death-
Now she is torn in two.
Once Poland stood, in Freedom bathed,
Her soldiers strong and bold-
Now like the Finns, the Czechs, the French,
Her sufferings are untold.
Across the world, like fire unchecked,
Destruction flames anew,
But Britain stands on mighty guard-
The English are not through!
Each soldier knows within his heart
The battle that shall be-
But British hearts are strong and brave,
They will not turn and flee.
And when the fight shall come, at last,
And Victory is won,
We’ll lift our eyes in thankful prayer,
‘Twill be a task well done.
WINNIFRED PIERCE, Welland.
[Welland Telegraph April 17, 1903]
Oh, fit,
Of Fancy, fuzz, film and fluff,
And feathers, film and fluff.
Upon a head as light as you;
Oh, delicatessen dream,
Of dowager and doll;
Oh, millinered melody
Of matron and of maid;
Oh rapturous bunch of botany
Bedixening womankind,
How beautiful you are,
Poised on the tresses
Touched with glinting gold,
Or sunset kissed,
Or richly brown as Mother Earth
Now flushed with budding spring;
Or fair as streaming strands
Of soft-spun silver silk!
Man’s fascinated eyes
Are fixed on you.
And, lost in admiration of your
charms.
He quite forgets
How great the cost of beauty is.
Set like a crown
Of fairy filigree
Above a face an angel would
Give heaven for
You diadem an Easter Queen
With all the glories
Of the Easter morn,
And make a halo
Look like thirty cents.
You are a poem
Wrought in wire and lace,
And fabric fragile
As the poet’s dream,
Illumined by the tints and shades
That painters breathe
Into the pictures of their souls,
Your harmony of hues holds fast
The fancies of the frenzies of
The limner’s spirit and its score
And light divides itself
In seven times seven spectrum tones
To make your color scheme
A brilliant, bursting
Blazonry of bloom.
The sculptor’s sorcery seeks
All shapes
Or earth and air and sky,
And frost and sunny time,
And molds all lines of figure
Into you.
Oh! Easter hat;
Oh! fleeting flash
That fulminates
The flowery charge of spring
And bursts it it bloom
That fills
The circumambient air
With rainbow remnants
Multiplied a million times;
Oh! Easter hat,
Infinity
Of shape and size
Of colorature and cost;
Oh! Easter hat
Oh! promised praise and prayer
Of woman’s love and hope,
Oh! say,
Are you on straight?
[Welland Telegraph April 10, 1903]
The prodigal son of the modern day
Journeyed homeward from far away;
“We’ll treat it all as a harmless
joke,”
His father said: “when he comes
home broke,”
But the young man sported a necktie
red,
And his hat reposed on the side of
his head,
And he put his feet on the parlour
chair
And told them to get him the bill of
fare.
They stood and waited in great
suspense
For him to begin his penitence,
But he simply said he would like to
know
What made the town so confounded
slow.
And he never allowed them to forget
That he was on deck as the family
pet,
And they sold the calf, ‘mid vexations
grim
‘Cause veal wasn’t good enough for
him.
[Welland Telegraph March 20, 1903]
My father bought an undershirt
Of bright and flaming red,
“All wool” I’m ready to assert.
“Fleece-dyed” the merchant said;
“Your size is thirty-eight, I think
A forty you should get,
Since all wool goods are bound to
shrink
A trifle when they’re wet.
That shirt two weeks my father were
Two washings- that was all;
From forty down to thirty-four
It shrank like leaves in fall
I wore it then a day or two,
But when ‘twas washed again
My wife said: “Now ‘twill only do
For little brother Ben.”
A fortnight Ben squeezed into it
At last he said it hurt;
We put it on your baby-the fit
Was good as any shirt.
We ne’er will wash it more while yet
We see it flickering light,
For if again that shirt is wet
“Twill vanish from our sight.
[Welland Telegraph January, 23, 1903]
I wish I was a little boy,
And didn’t have no curls,
So I could run and jump and fight
And needn’t play with girls.
And needn’t wash my face and hands
And brush and comb my hair;
And clean my teeth three times a day
Oh, I don’t think it’s fair!
But just because I am a girl
I have to be real good,
And not spill syrup on my frock,
And always chew my food.
[Welland Telegraph May 22, 1903]
The doctor was discouraged, for the
neighborhood was well;
The colic spared the little one, and
also it befel.
The elders had no troubles that demanded
medic’s skill-
No one in that vicinity was even
slightly ill.
The doctor’s wife was worried, for
she longed to have a gown;
The doctor, when she mentioned it,
could only darkly frown,
“There is,” he said, “no chance at
all of getting what you need,
While every person hereabout is from
all sickness freed.”
“Oh, woe is me! Alas! Alack!” then
cried the doctor’s wife,
“It’s terrible, indeed, that I should
have so hard a life;
I must, it seems, have patience just
because your patients lack;
I must, to go abroad in style, put
someone on his back.”
This woe she pondered deeply, but
ere long was seen to smile,
“I have a plan,” she said at last,
“that really seems worth while;
I’ll start at once a cooking school.”
He straightway ceased to frown.
“My dear,” he cried, most joyfully,
“you’ll surely get that gown.”
And so the people suffered, while
the doctor’s wife in pride
Paraded in the handsome gown that
once had been denied.
It cost-ah-well-she gained by
this heartless, mean device,
And anyone can see that indigestion
was the price.
[Welland Telegraph December 10, 1903]
Show me that boy that nightly
bows at mother’s knee to pray,
Who wears her golden precepts in
his heart,
Who lays his hand in hers and seeks
her counsel day by day,
Whose path in life from hers lies
not apart,
And thus his horoscope I’ll cast:
“His name will live among the last.”
Show me the youth whose good
right arm encircles mother’s form,
Whose lips fear not to kiss her
faded cheek,
Who lives for her to shield her and
protect her from all harm,
Who comforts her when she is old
and weak,
And in the coming years I see
A man for all eternity
Show me the man whose life is pure,
that man who claims success;
Show me the man who treads the
the ways of fame:
That man whose deeds adorn the
name of truth and uprightness,
Whose soul knows not the tarnished
blush of shame,
And in his glory thus arrayed-
Behold a man that mother made.
-L.P. Hext.
[Welland Telegraph May 22, 1903]
Here are some rules for living one
hundred years:
Eight hours sleep.
Sleep on your right side.
Keep your bedroom window open
all night.
Have a mat to your bedroom door.
Do not have your bedstead
against the wall.
No cold water in the morning, but
a bath at the temperature of the body
Exercise before breakfast.
Eat little meat and see that it is
well cooked.
(For adults) drink no milk
Eat plenty of fat to feed the cells
which destroy disease germs.
Avoid intoxicants, which destroy
those cells.
Daily exercise in the open air.
Allow no pet animals in your
living rooms
Live in the country if you can.
Watch the three D’s-drinking water
damp and drains.
Have change of occupation.
Take frequent and short holidays.
Keep your temper.
Limit your ambitions.
[Welland Telegraph February 27, 1903]
It won’t be long, my Welland friends
Ere spring is here-just think-
When there won’t be any music played
By the orchestra in the rink.
The passerby along the streets-
Well known in musical arts-
They stop dead still, and listen to
“A Mansion of Aching Hearts,”
The above is one of the latest
Which the orchestra now blows;
While another they’ve just learned to
play
Is “Down Where the Werzburgur Flows.”
Besides these are many others,
Which the people love to hear,
Though not new, they’re just the caper
For the music-loving ear.
It’s no great snap to blow a horn,
After working hard all day,
And the way the boys attend to biz,
Invites their friends to say:
“Your labors we appreciate”
And say it good and loud-
“We thank you with well wishes, for
Of the orchestra we’re proud.”
[Welland Telegraph October 29, 1903]
When things don’t go to suit you,
And the world seems upside down;
Don’t waste your time in fretting,
But drive away that frown.
Since life is oft perplexing,
‘Tis much the wisest plan,
To bear all trials bravely,
And smile whene’er you can.
Why should you dread the morrow,
And thus despoil to-day?
For when you borrow trouble
You always have to pay.
It is a good old maxim,
Which should be often preached-
Don’t cross the bridge before you,
Until the bridge is reached.
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