Edgar Albert Guest Poems

I WAS somewhere off in Europe spending money like a king,
Owned a yacht like J. P. Morgan's, when the 'phone began to ring;
I was entertaining princes, dukes and earls, when wifie said:
'It's the telephone that's ringing, you must hustle out of bed.'
And I wandered down the stairway, grumbling o'er my vanished joy,
Growled: 'Hello;' and then he shouted: 'You're an uncle! It's a boy!'
...

THE dream ship is ready, the sea is like gold
And the fairy prince waits in command;
There's a cargo of wonderful dreams in the hold,
For the baby that seeks Slumberland.
...

Sometimes at the table, when
He gets misbehavin', then
Mother calls across to me:
'Look at him, now! Don't you see
...

Where is the road to Arcady,
Where is the path that leads to peace,
Where shall I find the bliss to be,
Where shall the weary wanderings cease?
These are the questions that come to me,
Where is the road to Arcady?
...

I SING the family party that once we used to know,
The old time family parties we gave so long ago,
When every near-relation and distant cousins, too,
...

SAY, young fellow, just a minute,
They 're your first long trousers, eh?
And your little gray knee breeches
Are forever put away.
...

The new - fangled churches that don't believe I things
Aren't the churches that satisfy me;
I 'm firm in my notion that angels wear wings,
An' Heaven is a place we shall see,
...

One day the doctor came because my throat was feeling awful sore,
And when he looked inside to see he said: 'It's like it was before;
It's tonserlitis, sure enough. You'd better tell her Pa to-day
To make his mind up now to have that little party right away.'
...

I like to get to thinking of the old days that are gone,
When there were joys that never more the world will look upon,
The days before inventors smoothed the little cares away
And made, what seemed but luxuries then, the joys of every day;
When bathrooms were exceptions, and we got our weekly scrub
By standing in the middle of a little wooden tub.
...

CAESAR did a few things,
Horace wrote in style,
Good old Plato knew things
Very much worth while.
...