I AM lying in my tent, Sweet Marie, And my soul with rage is pent — up in G; For I know almighty well you have caught another fel, And your thoughts no longer dwell, love, with me. When we kissed a last good-by — tearfully — You but worked a girlish guy off on me. O you sweet, bewitching jade, what a clever game you played, For your tears were ready made, Sweet Marie. When I donned the soldier blue, Sweet Marie, Like a picnic woodtick you stuck to me; And the smile you used to wear was as full of gleaming glare As a sunbeam on a tear, Sweet Marie. How your cunning head you'd lay — lovingly — On my bosom, while you'd say things to me; There you'd rest in loving pose, right beneath my very nose, Swiping buttons from my clothes, Sweet Marie. To the Cuban isle I go, Sweet Marie, Where the tropic sun will glow over me; And I'll wander through the dells with the dusky Cuban belles, Who are dressed in beads and shells, scantily. There your face I'll soon forget, Sweet Marie — I'll be frisky, you can bet, as a flea — I'll be giddy, I'll be gay, I will sing the hours away — Ta-ra-ra-ra boom de-ay! Hully Gee! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SURFACES AND MASKS; 30 by CLARENCE MAJOR SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EUGENE CARMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS GO SLEEP, MA HONEY by EDWARD D. BARKER CINQUAIN: SUSANNA AND THE ELDERS by ADELAIDE CRAPSEY TALES OF A WAYSIDE INN: THE SECOND DAY: LADY WENTWORTH by HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW TO AMARANTHA, THAT SHE WOULD DISHEVEL HER HAIR by RICHARD LOVELACE SING-SONG; A NURSERY RHYME BOOK: 119 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI |