Badger Clark, 'Cottonwood Leaves'

[duathir.livejournal.com]

Cottonwood Leaves

Red firelight on the Sioux tepees,
(Oh, the camp-smoke down the wind!)
Red firelight on the cottonwood trees
That clap, clap, clap in the dry night breeze.
(Oh, the camp-smoke down the wind!)

Red-skinned braves in the circling dance,
(Oh, the bright sparks toward the stars!)
The moccasined feet that stamp and prance,
And the brandished knife and the lifted lance.
(Oh, the bright sparks toward the stars!)

Eagle plumes in the swirling troop,
(Oh, the wild flames leaping high!)
And the painted bodies ramp and stoop
To the drum's hot thump and the vaunting whoop.
(Oh, the wild flames leaping high!)

Back where the darkness drops its veil,
(Oh, the sad smoke drifting low!)
The far wolves howl and the widows wail
For the graveless dead on the grim war trail.
(Oh, the sad smoke drifting low!)

Night on the plains, and the dreams it weaves,
(Oh, the embers black and cold!)
Where painted ghosts with the step of thieves
Dance to the clap of the cottonwood leaves.
(Oh, the embers black and cold!)

by Badger Clark

The Careless Gallant or "Post mortem nulla voluptas", by Thomas Jordan

[med_cat]

The Careless Gallant

Let us drink and be merry, dance, joke and rejoice,
With claret and sherry, theorbo and voice;
The changeable world to our joy is unjust,
All treasure's uncertain, then down with your dust;
In frolics dispose your pounds, shillings, and pence,
For we shall be nothing a hundred years hence.

We'll sport and be free with Frank, Betty, and Dolly,
Have lobsters and oysters to cure melancholy;
Fish dinners will make a man spring like a flea,
Dame Venus, love's lady, was born of the sea,
With her and with Bacchus we'll tickle the sense,
For we shall be past it a hundred years hence.

( Your beautiful bit who hath all eyes upon her... )