Category: The Detroit Times

From The Detroit Times, November 6, 1913. By Berton Braley.

It’s “How do you do” to William,
    But simply “Hello!” to Bill.
For William has stocks in the safety box,
    While the riches of Bill are nil;
And William has might and power
    Which people are wary of,
So they smile and bow to William now,
    But penniless Bill they love!

It’s “How do you do?” to William,
    With something of fear and awe,
When we’re face to face in the market place,
    Where gold is the chiefest law,
But the children and men and women,
    They turn with right good will
From work or play when he comes their way
    And holler “Hello” to Bill!

It’s “How do you do?” to William,
    With the thought of his cash in view;
While not a stamp has Bill, the scamp!
    We like him because—we do!
Now had you your choice of greetings
    Which one would meet your will?
The “How Do You Do?” for William
    Or the simple “Hello!” for Bill?

From The Detroit Times, October 21, 1913. By Berton Braley.

I cannot bear to let you go,
It’s but a little while, I know,
And yet my anxious heart picks out
A thousand dangers round about,
A thousand chances I can see
That might take you away from me.

There are such ills that lurk in wait,
So many evil turns of fate,
So many slinking deaths that leer,
So much to fill the soul with fear,
That my forebodings will not flee
Till you come safely back to me.

For when you gave to me your love
So splendid seemed the wonder of
That perfect gift, I could not deem
That it was other than a dream,
A magic vision of delight
Which presently could take its flight.

Yet now I know my dream is true,
I still have fear of losing you,
Thinking somehow you are too high
Too fair and sweet for such as I,
And that some Prince of Love, maybe
Will take your love away from me.

There are so many hearts that seek,
So many facile tongues that speak,
So much of grace and power displayed
That I, who love you, am afraid,
Afraid of all the world—and so,
I cannot bear to let you go!

From The Detroit Times, October 1, 1913. By Berton Braley.

If I had saved each penny
    Which foolishly I spent,
I’d doubtless now have many
    To keep me well content.
If I had thought and pondered
    About each single sou,
I doubtless would have squandered
    At most a very few.

But while the cash was clinking
    Within my portly purse
I spent it without thinking
    For better or for worse,
And now I’m pretty seedy
    And badly out at heels.
In fact, I’m broke and needy
    And ravenous for meals.

Ah, me, I’ve been a dancer
    To all the pipes they played,
And—well, you see the answer
    Before you here displayed;
The primrose path is sunny,
    But I am broke and done;
I should have saved the money—
    But I’d have missed the fun.

From The Detroit Times, July 18, 1913. By Berton Braley.

Oh, bother me not with duty
    And hector me not with work.
No possible sum of booty
    Could make me do aught but shirk.
The office can go to thunder
    And business can go to pot.
I’m going to remain here under
    The shade of the porch—it’s hot!

If Wall Street is in a flurry,
    If Washington’s in a muss,
I murmur, “Well, I should worry.”
    I mutter, “Well, what’s the fuss.”
For politics cannot stir me,
    I don’t give a hang for trade,
And nothing on earth can spur me
    To move from my spot of shade.

The toilers may all deride me,
    They say I’m a sloth, I know.
But a tinkling pitcher’s beside me
    And the hammock is swinging slow.
There’s no one on earth that has a
    More absolute sense of ease.
Oh, it’s me for the cool piazza
    And the breath of the lazy breeze!

From The Detroit Times, June 4, 1913.
 By Berton Braley.
 

 Get busy, my love, my fair one, and come away.
 Gather together the bananas and the pies,
 Gather together the sandwiches and the jelly,
 And come away.
 For lo, the winter is past,
 The flies and the mosquitoes return
 And the voice of the picnicker is heard in the land.
 We will spread a table in the wilderness,
 We will eat burned potatoes and sandy bacon
 And call it good.
 We will say, “Lo, when was a home meal like to this!”
 And “Behold! What an appetite cometh of the open air!”
 Stay me with flagons, comfort me with apples,
 For I am weary.
 I have packed this basket seven miles
 And the end is not yet.
 When shall we eat?
 When shall we lay a feast for the ants,
 And spread a banquet for the wasps and the caterpillars,
 And put our feet into the jam,
 And sit upon the blackberry pie?
 Lo, the burdock putteth forth her burrs
 And the dewberry her thorns,
 And the poison ivy lureth us with her leaves
 And we are not wise, but suffer for that we did not know.
 And we shall come home dusty and tired and declaring, “never again!”
 Yet, nevertheless and notwithstanding
 I bid you “come away”
 For the winter is past,
 The time of the gnat and the flea and the sandfly and the wasp and the bee and the hornet and the beetle and the grasshopper has come,
 And the voice of the picnicker is heard in the land!

From The Detroit Times, May 2, 1913.
 By Berton Braley.
 

 “Speakin’ of fishes,” said the Tar,
 “Speakin’ of fishes, near an’ far,
     There once was a gentleman shark I knowed
 As swallowed our anchor fer a hook
 An’ when he seen what a bite he’d took
     Went hikin’ off through the sea, an’ towed
 That ship along like a bloomin’ chip,
 Though she was a regular monster ship.
 He towed her backwards, mile on mile
 Though the engines fought him all the while;
 He towed her over the heavin’ foam
 He towed her into the pier at home
 An’ then with many a bump an’ shock
 He towed that vessel upon the dock;
 He towed her up through the city street
 At a pace that a race horse couldn’t beat.
 He towed her over the vale an’ hill
 An’ he never stopped a bit until
 The screw got caught in a spreadin’ oak
 An’ the anchor chain an’ the hawser broke
 But the shark kep’ on with a grim intent
 Though I never did learn where the monster went.”
 There was silence awhile in the village bar
 As a tribute mute to the bold Jack Tar
 An’ it looked like the palm would sure be his
 Till old Bill Jackson said, “Gee Whiz!
 I kin tell you just where yer big fish is;
 An’ I know the tale that you tell is true
 ‘Cause I caught the shark as he hove in view
 An’ I got him stalled in the stable now
 An’ I use the critter to help me plow.”
 Then the old Tar rose an’ he said, said he,
 “By the Great Horn Spoon, that sure beats me.”
 Then his face grew pale and he gave a start
 And he fell and died—of a broken heart.