Poem: In Wintry Mood by O. K.

I've lost my turn for writing verse
   On any theme that offers
(Line number 3 should end with "purse"
   And number 4 with "coffers"):
I cannot get ideas to flow
   In rhythmic phrase, and snappily:
I always could, a while ago --
   But not to-day, unhappily.

Try as I will to air my views
   In tuneful form of chatter,
I fail to move the blessed Muse
   To aid me in the matter;
No inspiration she imparts,
   Though I implore her frantic'ly.
(I think I'll end this line with "hearts,"
   And this one with "romantic'ly.")

I'm coining words to make the rhyme --
   The rhyme bereft of reason:
Fain would I write of Love sublime,
   But Love is out of season.
On me the Muse I woo in vain
   Has cast a spell hermetical;
But soon the Spring will break again,
   And then I'll wax poetical.

A bard benumbed by winter cold
   Blames not the Muse; he's humble,
(And, darling, I am growing old,
   And therefore musn't grumble.)
Spring, with its onions and its flowers
   And birds a-chirping pleasantly,
Will bring me back my rhyming powers --
   And Spring will happen presently.

First published in The Bulletin, 26 June 1919.

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by Perry Middlemiss published on May 28, 2005 10:54 AM.

Gideon Haigh was the previous entry in this blog.

Weekend Round-Up #22 is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.

Monthly Archives

Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en