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...OMNIPRESENCE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AUTUMN SONG by KATHERINE MANSFIELD MONODY ON THE DEATH OF WILLIAM MARION REEDY by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE BEAST OF BURDEN by MARIANNE MOORE THE DARK HOUSE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON HYBRIDS OF WAR: A MORALITY POEM: 2. CAMBODIA by KAREN SWENSON |