Good-bye, and a hundred kisses from your loving
MARGERY DAW.
V. THE CAMP POETESS ADDS HER STORE OF MENTAL RICHES TO THE GENERAL
FUND.
My darling,--I have a thousand things to tell you, but I cannot
possibly say them in rhyme, merely because the committee insists upon
it. I send you herewith all the poetry which has been written in
camp since last Monday, and it has been a very prosy week.
I have given them to papa, and he says that the best of my own, which
are all bad enough, is the following hammock-song.
I thought it out while I was swinging Margery, and here it is! -
To--fro,
Dreamily, slow,
Under the trees;
Swing--swing,
Drowsily sing
The birds and the bees;
Sleep--rest,
Slumber is best,
Wakefulness sad;
Rest--sleep,
Forget how to weep,
Dream and be glad!
Papa says it is all nonsense to say that slumber is best and
wakefulness sad; and that it is possible to tell the truth in poetry.
Perhaps it is, but why don't they do it oftener, then? And how was
he to know that Polly and Jack had just gone through a terrible
battle of words in which I was peacemaker, and that Dicky had been as
naughty as--Nero--all day? These two circumstances made me look at
the world through blue glasses, and that is always the time one longs
to write poetry.
I send you also Geoff's verses, written to mamma, and slipped into
the box when we were playing Machine Poetry:-
I know a woman fair and calm,
Whose shining tender eyes
Make, when I meet their earnest gaze,
Sweet thoughts within me rise.
Pages:
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114