Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A BOY'S WHISTLE, by JUDD MORTIMER LEWIS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A BOY'S WHISTLE, by                    
First Line: If I could whistle like I used to when I was just a boy
Last Line: No use in tryin' when we're old, we've been away too long!
Subject(s): Lips; Memory; Music & Musicians; Sound; Whistles & Whistling


IF I could whistle like I used to when I was just a boy,
And fill the echoes just plumb full of that old-fashioned joy,
I guess I would be willin' then to turn my back on things
An' say farewell to scenes down here and try my angel wings;
O just once more to pucker up an' ripple soft an' trill
Until the music seemed to fall against the far-off hill
Like dew falls on a half-blown rose, till it gets full an' slips
Like jewels twinklin', tinklin' down from pink, bewitchin' lips.

Oh, yes, if I could whistle now like I could whistle then!
Just pucker up these grim old lips an' turn things loose again!
I'd like to sit up on the knoll where trees was all around,
Just sit there punchin' my bare toes into the smelly ground
An' trillin' just the same old tune I used to trill of yore,
With all the verve and ecstasy that won't come back no more,
Until I'd see old brown-throat thrush come stealin' from his bush
An' look around, like he would say, say to the whole world: "Hush!"

If I could whistle now I'd like to go along the road
Awakin' with my whistle all the scenes that once I knowed;
Just sendin' ripplin' music through the tamaracks an' pines
An' stirrin' all the blossoms on the mornin' glory vines;
Just go sendin' all about me, all behind me an' before,
First loud an' shrill as anything an' then a-gittin' lower,
The same old whistle that was mine, the same old carol shrill
That used to bid the day good-night an' mock the whippoorwill.

I saw a boy go past just now — his cheeks was like balloons —
An' oh, the air was rendered sweet by old remembered tunes!
An' oh, the world sat lightly on that childish happy imp!
His trousers was all patched behind, his hat was torn an' limp,
While one big toe that had been stubbed was twisted in a rag;
But oh, that imp stepped high an' proud, with shoulders full of brag,
An' whistled in the same old way that I was wont to do,
Till my old heart was in the tunes the little rascal blew.

If I could whistle like he did — but now there's something gone!
The trill is gone, the skill is gone! Sometimes when I'm alone
I pucker an' purse up my lips an' try, an' try, an' try,
An' then the noise my old lips makes ain't nothin' but a sigh.
It ain't no thing of learnin', it can't be contrived by art,
A boy must be behind it, an' a great big boyish heart;
A boy just out of heaven must go whistlin' of the song;
No use in tryin' when we're old, we've been away too long!





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