_That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches, And you've struck it,--on Poverty Flat_]
BEING asked by an intimate party,-- Which the same I would term as a friend,-- Though his health it were vain to call hearty, Since the mind to deceit it might lend; For his arm it was broken quite recent, And there's something gone wrong with his lung,-- Which is why it is proper and decent I should write what he runs off his tongue.
_Which is why it is proper and decent I should write what he runs off his tongue_]
[Illustration: _Being asked by an intimate party_]
FIRST, he says, Miss, he's read through your letter To the end,--and "the end came too soon;" That a "slight illness kept him your debtor," (Which for weeks he was wild as a loon); That "his spirits are buoyant as yours is;" That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate" (Which the language that invalid uses At times it were vain to relate).
_That "his spirits are buoyant as yours is;" That with you, Miss, he "challenges Fate"_]
AND he says "that the mountains are fairer For once being held in your thought;" That each rock "holds a wealth that is rarer Than ever by gold-seeker sought." (Which are words he would put in these pages, By a party not given to guile; Though the claim not, at date, paying wages, Might produce in the sinful a smile.)
_Though the claim not, at date, paying wages, Might produce in the sinful a smile_]
HE remembers the ball at the Ferry, And the ride, and the gate, and the vow, And the rose that you gave him,--that very Same rose he is "treasuring now." (Which his blanket he's kicked on his trunk, Miss, And insists on his legs being free; And his language to me from his bunk, Miss, Is frequent and painful and free.)
[Illustration: _And the rose that you gave him_]
_And his language to me from his bunk, Miss, Is frequent and painful and free_]
HE hopes you are wearing no willows, But are happy and gay all the while; That he knows--(which this dodging of pillows Imparts but small ease to the style, And the same you will pardon)--he knows, Miss, That, though parted by many a mile, "Yet, were _he_ lying under the snows, Miss, They'd melt into tears at your smile."
_Which this dodging of pillows Imparts but small ease to the style_]