. Be a good boy ; good-bye, and other back home poems. We kept the step the band-men (hd, and kept it quite as well,And always held our corner up when it was time to yell. Perhaps they made some discords,—perhaps the side-horns blewAbout three times as strong and loud as they, by right, should do;Perhaps the cymbals didnt clang exactly with the bass,Perhaps the B-flats missed some notes and tooted out of place; But what cared we when we were boys?—to our uncultured breast, The Girl I Left Behind Me was as good as Sousas little backs would straighten up, our thoughts would soar away,Th
. Be a good boy ; good-bye, and other back home poems. We kept the step the band-men (hd, and kept it quite as well,And always held our corner up when it was time to yell. Perhaps they made some discords,—perhaps the side-horns blewAbout three times as strong and loud as they, by right, should do;Perhaps the cymbals didnt clang exactly with the bass,Perhaps the B-flats missed some notes and tooted out of place; But what cared we when we were boys?—to our uncultured breast, The Girl I Left Behind Me was as good as Sousas little backs would straighten up, our thoughts would soar away,The acme of our earthly bliss—to play a horn some day. Ive heard full many bands since then, and paid to get a seat,Ive heard them play their loudest airs, and softly, sadly sweet; 41 But never has my being thrilled with rapture morecomplete, Than when I heard old Strasburg band go march-ing down the Cree^, fieiti^, anti iWieaHotDiSf The years at the spring,And days at the morn;Mornings at seven;The hillsides dew-pearled:The larks on the wing;The snails on the thorn:Gods in His heaven—Alls right with the world! Robert Browning 9^^ «^ray« tf^rayd «vray» «^ray» «vrav^sM^ ^M^ ^Ma ^A3^ 5^^ .aOa MID-AUGUST*^ Green in the valley and blue on the hill,And brown in the fields near by. A quiver of heat when the wind is still, A Bob White whistle strong and shrillAnd a distant sweet reply. A locust sings me a warm, dry song, As he sits on a tassel of corn;And the dust is deep and the spider lines strong,And the seconds are pushing the minutes along, For the hours are weary and worn. The glorious blue of the summer sky Is changed to a hazy gray,And a lonely white cloud goes a-floating by,And Mother Breeze nods with a half-closed eye While her children, the zephyrs, I lie neath a tree in a shady nook By a drowsy, murmuring I listen and think and at times give a look
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1900, bookdecade1900, bookidbegoodboygoo, bookyear1906
