WHILE Bill was sitting by the door Recovering from a spree, The bookie came and looked him o'er And said, "Yer used to be A smart man, Dad, I reckon, for You've got the build," said he. The old man leaned against the wall, Too woebegone for pride, And as he let his eyelids fall And brushed the tears aside, "I never was no good at all For nothin'," he replied. "Well, s'elp me," said the bookie, "let Me shake your hand, and say That you're the first old man I've met Who wasn't in his day A champion—take this and wet Your whistle anyway." That ancient man, who in the past Had never known renown, He staggered to the bar, and cast Upon it half a crown, Five times he mentioned "rum"—as fast As he could drink it down. And then he sallied forth once more, And threw upon the ground The battered hat and coat he wore, And challenged all around To fight, or ride, or shear, or bore A post for fifty pound. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE WORD OF AN ENGINEER by JAMES WELDON JOHNSON TO -, WITH A ROSE by SIDNEY LANIER THE SONG OF THE SHEPHERDS by EDWIN MARKHAM TO A FRIEND WRITING ON CABARET DANCERS by EZRA POUND DOCTOR OF BILLIARDS by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON |