Eugene Field Poems

From out Cologne there came three kings
To worship Jesus Christ, their King.
To Him they sought fine herbs they brought,
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Oh, come with me to the Happy Isles
In the golden haze off yonder,
Where the song of the sun-kissed breeze beguiles
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Since Chloe is so monstrous fair,
With such an eye and such an air,
What wonder that the world complains
When she each am'rous suit disdains?
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Up yonder in Buena Park
There is a famous spot,
In legend and in history
Yclept the Waller Lot.
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Down south there is a curio-shop
Unknown to many men;
Thereat do I intend to stop
When I am south again;
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Little All-Aloney's feet
Pitter-patter in the hall,
And his mother runs to meet
And to kiss her toddling sweet,
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If I were Francois Villon and Francois Villon I,
What would it matter to me how the time might drag or fly?
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See, Thaliarch mine, how, white with snow,
Soracte mocks the sullen sky;
How, groaning loud, the woods are bowed,
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I'm weary of this weather and I hanker for the ways
Which people read of in the psalms and preachers paraphrase--
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Syn that you, Chloe, to your moder sticken,
Maketh all ye yonge bacheloures full sicken;
Like as a lyttel deere you ben y-hiding
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