From The Seattle Star, November 28, 1913. By Berton Braley.
Sometimes I long for the days of old
When men were quick with a trusty blade;
When dandies strutted in silk and gold
And women rustled in stiff brocade;
When life was filled with the old Romance,
With courtly manners and stately ways,
And brave Adventure had half a chance
‘Neath the smiling skies of the Good Old Days.
And yet—and yet—this thought keeps coming,
They had no plumbing!
There’s a wondrous thrill in the good old time
When gallants fought for a gallant king,
And all went gay as a lilting rhyme
And life was a rollicking, joyous thing;
When Milord rode forth in a scarlet coat,
With spotless lace at his neck and wrist,
And a faithful squire at his side to note
The deeds he did—and the maids he kissed!
Yet, for all his deeds, and dear, he held ‘em,
He bathed but seldom!
I sometimes long for the days of old
And sigh to climb from the modern rut;
Then I think of the castles, dim and cold,
And I think of the poor man’s airless hut;
I think of the candles they used for light,
The lumbering stage they rode upon;
I think of the Might that passed for Right,
And I’m glad the good old days have gone!
They were pleasant days for the hero dapper,
But—I’m no scrapper!
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