By Eloise Jarvis McGraw
Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.
Author of The Rundelstone of Oz, Merry Go Round in Oz, The Forbidden Fountain of Oz, The Moorchild, etc.
Originally published under her maiden name Eloise Jarvis in The Tri-High Journal, Spring Number, Vol. 1, No. 2, May 1930, Oklahoma City Senior High Schools.
Spring, with all her fluttering draperies
Is here, and blossoms bright and pale
Shower from the laden trees
All up and down the green-floored vale.
And wanderers weak and wanly weary
Sink upon the velvet sward
And lean upon the friendly, bleary
Trunk of some kind orchard lord.
A twisted trunk, and cruelly bent,
And in itself not fine to see,
But oh, what angel heaven-sent
So strong as this dear gnarled tree?
What shoulder white so soft to lean
Upon, while sleep doth hover near?
What anguish is so swift and keen
To comfort from a tired heart’s tear
While leaning on the giant bole
Of this good soul in warped form?
Who plays so wise and well the role
Of comforter to the forlorn?
There’s none, and grateful mortals thank,
With lifted arms, such boons as these:
The spring, the flowers, growing rank,
And tender trunks of gnarled trees!
Is here, and blossoms bright and pale
Shower from the laden trees
All up and down the green-floored vale.
And wanderers weak and wanly weary
Sink upon the velvet sward
And lean upon the friendly, bleary
Trunk of some kind orchard lord.
A twisted trunk, and cruelly bent,
And in itself not fine to see,
But oh, what angel heaven-sent
So strong as this dear gnarled tree?
What shoulder white so soft to lean
Upon, while sleep doth hover near?
What anguish is so swift and keen
To comfort from a tired heart’s tear
While leaning on the giant bole
Of this good soul in warped form?
Who plays so wise and well the role
Of comforter to the forlorn?
There’s none, and grateful mortals thank,
With lifted arms, such boons as these:
The spring, the flowers, growing rank,
And tender trunks of gnarled trees!
Originally published in the Philadelphia Public Ledger, January 12, 1919.
Tobogganing in Supposyville With the King and Queen and Sir Solomon Tremendous Wise
The coasting hill in Supposyville’s
The finest that I know.
And you should see the bobsleds
Skitterwitching down it though!
A sled is an essential
In that jolly realm of fun.
Why, pshaw! there’s not a person there
Without a corking one.
It makes no difference as to age,
Condition, shape or size;
A fit for any figure’s made by
Solomon T. Wise.
The King’s cook, who’s uncommon fat,
Requires a special strength,
While the tailor, who is awf’ly thin,
Has his sled built for length.
The King’s is wonderful to see—
Though the Queen does the steering;
For when his Highness has the wheel
Snow-bankward they go veering.
Big and little, broad and slim,
The sleds go gayly swooping
Down the hill; a dozen spill,
Then up they go a-trooping.
Those merry, dear Supposy folk—
The old and middling old ones—
The boys and girls and famous earls,
The timid and the bold ones!
Yes, every white and moonlight night
You’ll find the Kingdom coasting,
With bonfires crackling here and there
For toe and finger toasting!
No wonder they’re so healthy,
And so free from all malignity;
No wonder they’re so jolly—why
They simple have no dignity.
And while we’re on the subject—
If you’re troubled with a lot—
Just take a header down a hill
And see how much you’ve got
(Left.)
The finest that I know.
And you should see the bobsleds
Skitterwitching down it though!
A sled is an essential
In that jolly realm of fun.
Why, pshaw! there’s not a person there
Without a corking one.
It makes no difference as to age,
Condition, shape or size;
A fit for any figure’s made by
Solomon T. Wise.
The King’s cook, who’s uncommon fat,
Requires a special strength,
While the tailor, who is awf’ly thin,
Has his sled built for length.
The King’s is wonderful to see—
Though the Queen does the steering;
For when his Highness has the wheel
Snow-bankward they go veering.
Big and little, broad and slim,
The sleds go gayly swooping
Down the hill; a dozen spill,
Then up they go a-trooping.
Those merry, dear Supposy folk—
The old and middling old ones—
The boys and girls and famous earls,
The timid and the bold ones!
Yes, every white and moonlight night
You’ll find the Kingdom coasting,
With bonfires crackling here and there
For toe and finger toasting!
No wonder they’re so healthy,
And so free from all malignity;
No wonder they’re so jolly—why
They simple have no dignity.
And while we’re on the subject—
If you’re troubled with a lot—
Just take a header down a hill
And see how much you’ve got
(Left.)
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