Classic and Contemporary Poetry
LOVE LYRICS OF A COWBOY, by ROBERT V. CARR First Line: It hain't no use fer me to say Last Line: "dog-gone a clock!"" is what I say." Subject(s): Cowboys; Love; Ranch Life; West (u.s.); Southwest; Pacific States | ||||||||
IT hain't no use fer me to say There's others with a style an' way That beats hers to a fare-you-well, Fer, on the square, I'm here to tell I jes can't even start to see But what she's perfect as kin be. Fer any fault I finds excuse I'll tell you, pard, it hain't no use Fer me to try to raise a hand, When on my heart she's run her brand. The bunk-house ain't the same to me; The bunch jes makes me weary Gee! I never knew they was so coarse I warps my face to try to force A smile at each old gag they spring; Fer I'd heap ruther hear her sing "Sweet Adeline," or softly play The "Dream o' Heaven" that-a-way. Besides this place, most anywhere I'd ruther be so she was there. She called me "dear," an' do you know, My heart jes skipped a beat, an' tho' I'm hard to feaze, I'm free to yip My reason nearly lost its grip. She called me "dear," jes sweet an' slow, An' lookin' down an' speakin' low; An' if I had ten lives to live, With everything the world could give, I'd shake 'em all without one fear If 'fore I'd go she'd call me "dear." You wonders why I slicks up so On Sundays, when I gits to go To see her well, I'm free to say She's like religion that-a-way. Jes sort o' like some holy thing, As clean as young grass in the spring; An' so before I rides to her I looks my best from hat to spur But even then I hain't no right To think I look good in her sight. If she should pass me up say, boy, You jes put hobbles on your joy; First thing you know, you gits so gay Your luck stampedes and gits away. An' don't you even start a guess That you've a cinch on happiness; Fer few e'er reach the Promised Land If they starts headed by a band. Ride slow an' quiet, humble, too, Or Fate will slap its brand on you. The old range sleeps, there hain't a stir. Less it's a night-hawk's sudden whir, Or cottonwoods a-whisperin' while The red moon smiles a lovin' smile. An' there I set an' hold her hand So glad I jes can't understand The reason of it all, or see Why all the world looks good to me; Or why I sees in it heap more Of beauty than I seen before. Fool talk, perhaps, but it jes seems We're ridin' through a range o' dreams; Where medder larks the year round sing, An' it's jes one eternal spring. An' time why time is gone by gee! There's no such thing as time to me Until she says, "Here, boy, you know You simply jes have got to go; It's nearly twelve." I rides away, "Dog-gone a clock!" is what I say. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...WESTERN WAGONS by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET DRIVING WEST IN 1970 by ROBERT BLY IN THE HELLGATE WIND by MADELINE DEFREES A PERIOD PORTRAIT OF SYMPATHY by EDWARD DORN ASSORTED COMPLIMENTS by EDWARD DORN AT THE COWBOY PANEL by EDWARD DORN A HYMN [TO THE NAME AND] IN HONOR OF SAINT TERESA by RICHARD CRASHAW THE CHURCH OF A DREAM; TO BERNHARD BERENSON by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON |
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