Poems All the Way from Pike (Google eBook)

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Pan-American Press, 1904 - American poetry - 126 pages
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Page 9 - Joe Bowers, Before we hitch for life, You ought to get a little home To keep your little wife.
Page 10 - em yit! At length I went to mining, Put in my biggest licks, Went down upon the boulders Just like a thousand bricks. I worked both late and early In rain, in sun, in snow; I was working for my Sally— 'Twas all the same to Joe. At length I got a letter From my dear brother Ike: It came from old Missouri, All the way from Pike; It brought to me the darn'dest news That ever you did hear!
Page 10 - So pray excuse this tear. It said that Sal was false to me, Her love for me had fled; She'd got married to a butcher,— And the butcher's hair was red...
Page 10 - When I got to that country I hadn't nary red; I had such wolfish feelings, I wished myself 'most dead; But the thoughts of my dear Sally Soon made those feelings git, And whispered hopes to Bowers — I wish I had 'em yit! At length I went to mining, Put in my biggest licks; Went down upon the boulders Just like a thousand bricks. I worked both late and early, In rain, in sun, in snow: I was working for my Sally — It was all the same to Joe.
Page 9 - Joe Bowers, before we hitch for life, You ought to get a little home to keep your little wife.
Page 39 - JOE BOWERS. My name it is Joe Bowers, And I've got a brother Ike; I came from old Missouri, And all the way from Pike. I'll tell you why I left there, And why I came to roam, And leave my poor old mammy, So far away from home.
Page 73 - And keep the ship o' state afloat I sent him both my sons, And would 'a' gone myself and loved to make the bullets whiz 'F it hadn't b'en I couldn't walk account o' rheumatiz. Wull, Abe — my little Abe, I mean — he started out with Grant ; They buried him at Shiloh. . . . Excuse me, but I can't Help feelin' father-like, you know, for them was likely boys; The' wasn't two another sich that went f'om Illinoise.
Page 74 - DC, Had time to ricolleck the days he used to room with me! For don't you know I wrote to him they'd sentenced to be shot His namesake, Lincoln Pettigrew, in shame to die and The son o' his old crony, and the last o' my twin boys He used to plague me so about, at Springnel', Illinoise.
Page 71 - Abe was clean chuck full o' fun; but he was sharp as tacks, For that there comic face o' his'n was fortyfied with fac's. Some fellers used to laff at Abe because his boots and pants Appeared to be on distant terms; but when he'd git a chance He'd give 'em sich a drubbin' that they'd clean forgit his looks, For Abe made up in common sense the things he lacked in books.
Page 16 - When my boyhood dreams were born; Of the river flowing by, And the waving woods anigh; Oh, the far-off fields of corn! Let dilettante clubmen smoke the choicest weeds they choose, And lounging on their soft divans discuss the daily news — The ebb and flow of market tides, the social swirl and set; Their flavour cannot soothe the nerves, it cannot kill regret. But I shall sit me snug and close with humble pipe and stem To dream of loved ones far away — I've not forgotten...

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