THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF O. HENRY - O. Henry

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       O. Henry

      THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF O. HENRY

      Published by

      Books

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       [email protected]

      2017 OK Publishing

      ISBN 978-80-272-0160-0

      Table of Contents

       A Contribution

       Chanson De Bohême

       Drop A Tear In This Slot

       Hard To Forget

       Nothing To Say

       Tamales

       The Lullaby Boy

       The Murderer

       The Old Farm

       The Pewee

       Two Portraits

       Vanity

       Sleeping

       Fancies

       Trusting

       Thoughts

       Thinking

       The Crucible

       Biography of O. Henry

      A Contribution

       Table of Contents

      There came unto ye editor

       A poet, pale and wan,

       And at the table sate him down,

       A roll within his hand.

       Ye editor accepted it,

       And thanked his lucky fates;

       Ye poet had to yield it up

       To a king full on eights.

      Chanson De Bohême

       Table of Contents

      Lives of great men all remind us

       Rose is red and violet’s blue;

       Johnny’s got his gun behind us

       ‘Cause the lamb loved Mary too.

       — Robert Burns’ “Hocht Time in the aud Town.”

       I’d rather write this, as bad as it is

       Than be Will Shakespeare’s shade;

       I’d rather be known as an F. F. V.

       Than in Mount Vernon laid.

       I’d rather count ties from Denver to Troy

       Than to head Booth’s old programme;

       I’d rather be special for the New York World

       Than to lie with Abraham.

       For there’s stuff in the can, there’s Dolly and Fan,

       And a hundred things to choose;

       There’s a kiss in the ring, and every old thing

       That a real live man can use.

       I’d rather fight flies in a boarding house

       Than fill Napoleon’s grave,

       And snuggle up warm in my three slat bed

       Than be André the brave.

       I’d rather distribute a coat of red

       On the town with a wad of dough

       Just now, than to have my cognomen

       Spelled “Michael Angelo.”

       For a small live man, if he’s prompt on hand

       When the good things pass around,

       While the world’s on tap has a better snap

       Than a big man under ground.

      Drop A Tear In This Slot

       Table of Contents

      He who, when torrid Summer’s sickly glare

       Beat down upon the city’s parched walls,

       Sat him within a room scarce 8 by 9,

       And, with tongue hanging out and panting breath,

       Perspiring, pierced by pangs of prickly heat,

       Wrote variations of the seaside joke

       We all do know and always loved so well,

       And of cool breezes and sweet girls that lay

       In shady nooks, and pleasant windy coves

       Anon

       Will in that selfsame room, with tattered quilt

       Wrapped round him, and blue stiffening hands,

       All shivering, fireless, pinched by winter’s blasts,

       Will hale us forth upon the rounds once more,

       So that we may expect it not in vain,

       The joke of how with curses deep and coarse

       Papa puts up the pipe of parlor stove.

       So ye

       Who greet with tears this olden favorite,

       Drop one for him who, though he strives to please

       Must write about the things he never sees.

      Hard To Forget

       Table

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