Part 1
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Transcribers Notes:
Bold faced text shown as: =abcde= Italics text shown as: _abcde_ Unusual fonts shown as: _abcde_
[Illustrations:] have been moved to end of poem in all cases.
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* * * * *
_Chimneysmoke_
_By Christopher Morley_
CHIMNEYSMOKE HIDE AND SEEK THE ROCKING HORSE SONGS FOR A LITTLE HOUSE MINCE PIE
_New York: George H. Doran Company_
=_Chimneysmoke_=
_by_
_Christopher Morley_
_Illustrated by_ _Thomas Fogarty_
_Garden City New York_ _Doubleday, Page & Co._ _1927_
COPYRIGHT, 1917, 1919, 1920, 1921 BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES AT THE COUNTRY LIFE PRESS, GARDEN CITY, N.Y.
_"How can I turn from any fire_ _On any man's hearthstone?_ _I know the wonder and desire_ _That went to build my own."_
--RUDYARD KIPLING, "_The Fires_"
_Author's Note_
There are a number of poems in this collection that have not previously appeared in book form. But, as a few readers may discern, many of the verses are reprinted from _Songs for a Little House_(1917), _The Rocking Horse_ (1919) and _Hide and Seek_ (1920). There is also one piece revived from the judicious obscurity of an early escapade, _The Eighth Sin_, published in Oxford in 1912. It is on Mr. Thomas Fogarty's delightful and sympathetic drawings that this book rests its real claim to be considered a new venture. To Mr. Fogarty, and to Mr. George H. Doran, whose constant kindness and generosity contradict all the traditions about publishers and minor poets, the author expresses his permanent gratitude.
_Roslyn, Long Island._
_Contents_
PAGE
TO THE LITTLE HOUSE 19
A GRACE BEFORE WRITING 20
DEDICATION FOR A FIREPLACE 21
TAKING TITLE 22
THE SECRET 25
ONLY A MATTER OF TIME 26
AT THE MERMAID CAFETERIA 28
OUR HOUSE 29
ON NAMING A HOUSE 31
A HALLOWE'EN MEMORY 32
REFUSING YOU IMMORTALITY 35
BAYBERRY CANDLES 36
SECRET LAUGHTER 37
SIX WEEKS OLD 38
A CHARM 41
MY PIPE 42
THE 5:42 44
PETER PAN 48
IN HONOR OF TAFFY TOPAZ 49
THE CEDAR CHEST 50
READING ALOUD 51
ANIMAL CRACKERS 52
THE MILKMAN 55
LIGHT VERSE 56
THE FURNACE 57
WASHING THE DISHES 58
THE CHURCH OF UNBENT KNEES 61
ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY COAL-BIN 62
THE OLD SWIMMER 66
THE MOON-SHEEP 70
SMELLS 71
SMELLS (JUNIOR) 72
MAR QUONG, CHINESE LAUNDRYMAN 75
THE FAT LITTLE PURSE 76
THE REFLECTION 80
THE BALLOON PEDDLER 82
LINES FOR AN ECCENTRIC'S BOOK PLATE 86
TO A POST-OFFICE INKWELL 89
THE CRIB 90
THE POET 94
TO A DISCARDED MIRROR 97
TO A CHILD 98
TO A VERY YOUNG GENTLEMAN 100
TO AN OLD-FASHIONED POET 104
BURNING LEAVES IN SPRING 105
BURNING LEAVES, NOVEMBER 106
A VALENTINE GAME 107
FOR A BIRTHDAY 108
KEATS 111
TO H. F. M., A SONNET IN SUNLIGHT 113
QUICKENING 114
AT A WINDOW SILL 115
THE RIVER OF LIGHT 116
OF HER GLORIOUS MADNESS 118
IN AN AUCTION ROOM 119
EPITAPH FOR A POET WHO WROTE NO POETRY 120
SONNET BY A GEOMETER 121
TO A VAUDEVILLE TERRIER 122
TO AN OLD FRIEND 125
TO A BURLESQUE SOUBRETTE 126
THOUGHTS WHILE PACKING A TRUNK 129
STREETS 130
TO THE ONLY BEGETTER 131
PEDOMETER 133
HOSTAGES 134
ARS DURA 137
O. HENRY--APOTHECARY 138
FOR THE CENTENARY OF KEATS'S SONNET 139
TWO O'CLOCK 140
THE COMMERCIAL TRAVELLER 141
THE WEDDED LOVER 142
TO YOU, REMEMBERING THE PAST 143
CHARLES AND MARY 144
TO A GRANDMOTHER 145
DIARISTS 146
THE LAST SONNET 147
THE SAVAGE 148
ST. PAUL'S AND WOOLWORTH 149
ADVICE TO A CITY 150
THE TELEPHONE DIRECTORY 151
GREEN ESCAPE 153
VESPER SONG FOR COMMUTERS 157
THE ICE WAGON 158
AT A MOVIE THEATRE 161
SONNETS IN A LODGING HOUSE 163
THE MAN WITH THE HOE (PRESS) 167
DO YOU EVER FEEL LIKE GOD? 168
RAPID TRANSIT 170
CAUGHT IN THE UNDERTOW 171
TO HIS BROWN-EYED MISTRESS 172
PEACE 173
SONG, IN DEPRECATION OF PULCHRITUDE 175
MOUNTED POLICE 176
TO HIS MISTRESS, DEPLORING THAT HE IS NOT AN ELIZABETHAN GALAXY 179
THE INTRUDER 181
TIT FOR TAT 182
SONG FOR A LITTLE HOUSE 185
THE PLUMPUPPETS 186
DANDY DANDELION 190
THE HIGH CHAIR 192
LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT 193
AUTUMN COLORS 197
THE LAST CRICKET 198
TO LOUISE 199
CHRISTMAS EVE 203
EPITAPH ON THE PROOFREADER OF THE ENCYCLOPEDIA BRITANNICA 204
THE MUSIC BOX 205
TO LUATH 209
THOUGHTS ON REACHING LAND 212
A SYMPOSIUM 214
TO A TELEPHONE OPERATOR WHO HAS A BAD COLD 218
NURSERY RHYMES FOR THE TENDER-HEARTED 219
THE TWINS 227
A PRINTER'S MADRIGAL 228
THE POET ON THE HEARTH 230
O PRAISE ME NOT THE COUNTRY 231
A STONE IN ST. PAUL'S GRAVEYARD 235
THE MADONNA OF THE CURB 236
THE ISLAND 240
SUNDAY NIGHT 242
ENGLAND, JULY, 1913 246
CASUALTY 250
A GRUB STREET RECESSIONAL 251
PRELIMINARY INSTRUCTIONS FOR A FUNERAL SERVICE 253
_Illustrations_
PAGE
_This hearth was built for thy delight_-- _Frontispiece_
_And by a friend's bright gift of wine,_ _I dedicate this house of mine_ 23
_And of all man's felicities_-- 33
_A little world he feels and sees:_ _His mother's arms, his mother's knees_-- 39
_The 5:42_ 45
_And Daddy once said he would like to be me_ _Having cocoa and animals once more for tea!_ 53
_But heavy feeding complicates_ _The task by soiling many plates_ 59
_How ill avail, on such a frosty night_ 63
_The old swimmer_ 67
_But Katie, the cook, is more splendid than all_-- 73
_Perhaps it's a ragged child crying_ 77
_The Balloon Peddler_ 83
_If you appreciate it more_ _Than I--why don't return it!_ 87
_And then one night_-- 91
_The human cadence and the subtle chime_ _Of little laughters_-- 95
_What years of youthful ills and pangs and bumps_-- 101
_A Birthday_ 109
_You must be rigid servant of your art!_ 123
_You came, and impudent and deuce-may-care_ _Danced where the gutter flamed with footlight fire_ 127
_Hostages_ 135
_My eyes still pine for the comely line_ _Of an outbound vessel's hull_ 155
_A man ain't so secretive, never cares_ _What kind of private papers he leaves lay_-- 165
_Mounted Police_ 177
_Courtesy_ 183
_The Plumpuppets_ 187
... _It's hard to have to tell_ _How unresponsive I have found her_ 195
... _When you see, this Great First Time,_ _Lit candles on a Christmas Tree!_ 201
_The music box_ 207
_Solugubrious_ 215
_In the midnight, like yourself,_ _I explore the pantry shelf!_ 221
_The Twins_ 227
_O praise me not the country_ 233
_The wail of sickly children_-- 237
_Ah, does the butcher--heartless clown--_ _Beget that shadow on her brow?_ 243
_Chimneysmoke_
_=Chimneysmoke=_
TO THE LITTLE HOUSE
Dear little house, dear shabby street, Dear books and beds and food to eat! How feeble words are to express The facets of your tenderness.
How white the sun comes through the pane! In tinkling music drips the rain! How burning bright the furnace glows! What paths to shovel when it snows!
O dearly loved Long Island trains! O well remembered joys and pains.... How near the housetops Beauty leans Along that little street in Queens!
Let these poor rhymes abide for proof Joy dwells beneath a humble roof; Heaven is not built of country seats But little queer suburban streets!
March, 1917.
A GRACE BEFORE WRITING
This is a sacrament, I think! Holding the bottle toward the light, As blue as lupin gleams the ink; May Truth be with me as I write!
That small dark cistern may afford Reunion with some vanished friend,-- And with this ink I have just poured May none but honest words be penned!
DEDICATION FOR A FIREPLACE
This hearth was built for thy delight, For thee the logs were sawn, For thee the largest chair, at night, Is to the chimney drawn.
For thee, dear lass, the match was lit To yield the ruddy blaze-- May Jack Frost give us joy of it For many, many days.
TAKING TITLE
To make this house my very own Could not be done by law alone. Though covenant and deed convey Absolute fee, as lawyers say, There are domestic rites beside By which this house is sanctified.
By kindled fire upon the hearth, By planted pansies in the garth, By food, and by the quiet rest Of those brown eyes that I love best, And by a friend's bright gift of wine, I dedicate this house of mine.
When all but I are soft abed I trail about my quiet stead A wreath of blue tobacco smoke (A charm that evil never broke) And bring my ritual to an end By giving shelter to a friend.
These done, O dwelling, you become Not just a house, but truly Home!
THE SECRET
It was the House of Quietness To which I came at dusk; The garth was lit with roses And heavy with their musk.
The tremulous tall poplar trees Stood whispering around, The gentle flicker of their plumes More quiet than no sound.
And as I wondered at the door What magic might be there, The Lady of Sweet Silences Came softly down the stair.
ONLY A MATTER OF TIME
Down-slipping Time, sweet, swift, and shallow stream, Here, like a boulder, lies this afternoon Across your eager flow. So you shall stay, Deepened and dammed, to let me breathe and be. Your troubled fluency, your running gleam Shall pause, and circle idly, still and clear: The while I lie and search your glassy pool Where, gently coiling in their lazy round, Unseparable minutes drift and swim, Eddy and rise and brim. And I will see How many crystal bubbles of slack Time The mind can hold and cherish in one _Now_!
Now, for one conscious vacancy of sense, The stream is gathered in a deepening pond, Not a mere moving mirror. Through the sharp Correct reflection of the standing scene The mind can dip, and cleanse itself with rest, And see, slow spinning in the lucid gold, Your liquid motes, imperishable Time.
It cannot be. The runnel slips away: The clear smooth downward sluice begins again, More brightly slanting for that trembling pause, Leaving the sense its conscious vague unease As when a sonnet flashes on the mind, Trembles and burns an instant, and is gone.
AT THE MERMAID CAFETERIA
Truth is enough for prose: Calmly it goes To tell just what it knows.
For verse, skill will suffice-- Delicate, nice Casting of verbal dice.
Poetry, men attain By subtler pain More flagrant in the brain--
An honesty unfeigned, A heart unchained, A madness well restrained.
OUR HOUSE
It should be yours, if I could build The quaint old dwelling I desire, With books and pictures bravely filled And chairs beside an open fire, White-panelled rooms with candles lit-- I lie awake to think of it!
A dial for the sunny hours, A garden of old-fashioned flowers-- Say marigolds and lavender And mignonette and fever-few, And Judas-tree and maidenhair And candytuft and thyme and rue-- All these for you to wander in.
A Chinese carp (called _Mandarin_) Waving a sluggish silver fin Deep in the moat: so tame he comes To lip your fingers offering crumbs. Tall chimneys, like long listening ears, White shutters, ivy green and thick, And walls of ruddy Tudor brick Grown mellow with the passing years.
And windows with small leaded panes, Broad window-seats for when it rains; A big blue bowl of pot pourri And--yes, a Spanish chestnut tree To coin the autumn's minted gold. A summer house for drinking tea-- All these (just think!) for you and me.
A staircase of the old black wood Cut in the days of Robin Hood, And banisters worn smooth as glass Down which your hand will lightly pass; A piano with pale yellow keys For wistful twilight melodies, And dusty bottles in a bin-- All these for you to revel in!
But when? Ah well, until that time We'll habit in this house of rhyme.
1912
ON NAMING A HOUSE
When I a householder became I had to give my house a name.
I thought I'd call it "Poplar Trees," Or "Widdershins" or "Velvet Bees," Or "Just Beneath a Star." I thought of "House Where Plumbings Freeze," Or "As You Like it," "If You Please," Or "Nicotine" or "Bread and Cheese," "Full Moon" or "Doors Ajar."
But still I sought some subtle charm, Some rune to guard my roof from harm And keep the devil far; I thought of this, and I was saved! I had my letter-heads engraved _The House Where Brown Eyes Are._
A HALLOWE'EN MEMORY
Do you remember, Heart's Desire, The night when Hallowe'en first came? The newly dedicated fire, The hearth unsanctified by flame?
How anxiously we swept the bricks (How tragic, were the draught not right!) And then the blaze enwrapped the sticks And filled the room with dancing light.
We could not speak, but only gaze, Nor half believe what we had seen-- _Our_ home, _our_ hearth, _our_ golden blaze, _Our_ cider mugs, _our_ Hallowe'en!
And then a thought occurred to me-- We ran outside with sudden shout And looked up at the roof, to see Our own dear smoke come drifting out.
And of all man's felicities The very subtlest one, say I, Is when, for the first time, he sees His hearthfire smoke against the sky.
REFUSING YOU IMMORTALITY
If I should tell, unstinted, Your beauty and your grace, All future lads would whisper Traditions of your face; If I made public tumult Your mirth, your queenly state, Posterity would grumble That it was born too late.
I will not frame your beauty In bright undying phrase, Nor blaze it as a legend For unborn men to praise-- For why should future lovers Be saddened and depressed? Deluded, let them fancy Their own girls loveliest!
BAYBERRY CANDLES
Dear sweet, when dusk comes up the hill, The fire leaps high with golden prongs; I place along the chimneysill The tiny candles of my songs.
And though unsteadily they burn, As evening shades from gray to blue Like candles they will surely learn To shine more clear, for love of you.
SECRET LAUGHTER
"I had a secret laughter." --Walter de la Mare.
There is a secret laughter That often comes to me, And though I go about my work As humble as can be, There is no prince or prelate I envy--no, not one. No evil can befall me-- By God, I have a son!
SIX WEEKS OLD
He is so small, he does not know The summer sun, the winter snow; The spring that ebbs and comes again, All this is far beyond his ken.
A little world he feels and sees: His mother's arms, his mother's knees; He hides his face against her breast, And does not care to learn the rest.
A CHARM
For Our New Fireplace, To Stop Its Smoking
O wood, burn bright; O flame, be quick; O smoke, draw cleanly up the flue-- My lady chose your every brick And sets her dearest hopes on you!
Logs cannot burn, nor tea be sweet, Nor white bread turn to crispy toast, Until the charm be made complete By love, to lay the sooty ghost.
And then, dear books, dear waiting chairs, Dear china and mahogany, Draw close, for on the happy stairs My brown-eyed girl comes down for tea!
MY PIPE
My pipe is old And caked with soot; My wife remarks: "How can you put That horrid relic, So unclean, Inside your mouth? The nicotine Is strong enough To stupefy A Swedish plumber." I reply:
"This is the kind Of pipe I like: I fill it full Of Happy Strike, Or Barking Cat Or Cabman's Puff, Or Brooklyn Bridge (That potent stuff) Or Chaste Embraces, Knacker's Twist, Old Honeycomb Or Niggerfist.
I clamp my teeth Upon its stem-- It is my bliss, My diadem. Whatever Fate May do to me, This is my favorite B B B. For this dear pipe You feign to scorn I smoked the night The boy was born."
THE 5:42
Lilac, violet, and rose Ardently the city glows; Sunset glory, purely sweet, Gilds the dreaming byway-street, And, above the Avenue, Winter dusk is deepening blue.