You’ve got a mare all curry-combed and glossy;
Purple silk socks and purple fancy weskits—
You’re a swell dresser.
Thoughts on Matters and Things
AD GROSPHUM
Horace: Book II, Ode 16.
“Otium divos rogat impotenti
Pressus Ægæo—”
Pressus Ægæo—”
Grosphus, a guy who’s sailing in a tempest
On the Aegean when the moon is hidden—
He wants a rest, while stewing in his stateroom,
Weary and seasick.
On the Aegean when the moon is hidden—
He wants a rest, while stewing in his stateroom,
Weary and seasick.
Weary of war, what do the Thracians yearn for?
What seek the Medes, with quivers full of arrows?
What can’t you buy with purple, gold or rubies?
Rest is the answer.
What seek the Medes, with quivers full of arrows?
What can’t you buy with purple, gold or rubies?
Rest is the answer.
Not Morgan’s cash, nor Rockefeller’s money,
No blue-and-brass can drive away the willies
Caused by the care of elegant apartments,
Rugs and swell ceilings.
No blue-and-brass can drive away the willies
Caused by the care of elegant apartments,
Rugs and swell ceilings.
Wise the gazabe upon whose simple table
Old-fashioned truck like salt-and-pepper castors
Yet may be found. His bean is never bothered—
Sleeps like a hallboy.
Old-fashioned truck like salt-and-pepper castors
Yet may be found. His bean is never bothered—
Sleeps like a hallboy.
Why do we fuss for one thing and another?
Why do we hike to Saranac or Newport?
How can a human leave himself behind him?
Answer: He cannot.
Why do we hike to Saranac or Newport?
How can a human leave himself behind him?
Answer: He cannot.
Worry can get a guy on the Olympic;
Worry can chase a colonel in the Army;
Swift as the wind, to use a new expression—
Care is some sprinter.
Worry can chase a colonel in the Army;
Swift as the wind, to use a new expression—
Care is some sprinter.
Merry and bright, the citizen who’s cheerful
Won’t worry much about to-morrow’s breakfast.
“No one,” he smiles, “who faces Time the pitcher
Wallops one thousand.”
Won’t worry much about to-morrow’s breakfast.
“No one,” he smiles, “who faces Time the pitcher
Wallops one thousand.”
There was Achilles, cut off in his twenties,
And, au contraire, Tithonus was a hundred:
I may be lucky; you might be run over
Most any morning.
You’ve got a farm with fancy sheep and heifers;And, au contraire, Tithonus was a hundred:
I may be lucky; you might be run over
Most any morning.
You’ve got a mare all curry-combed and glossy;
Purple silk socks and purple fancy weskits—
You’re a swell dresser.
And what has Fate, the undeceitful, slipped me?
Only a small apartment out in Harlem,
And, with a trick of turning snappy Sapphics,
Scorn for the roughnecks.
Only a small apartment out in Harlem,
And, with a trick of turning snappy Sapphics,
Scorn for the roughnecks.