George Ade Poems
The Poet Of The New School Speaks
I'm great and
I know it.
People can't understand me.
I can't understand myself.
I don't want to.
If I did understand myself
I wouldn't be great.
'The moon reels and the
Phantom passes twice and thrice
The death damp hand
Across my brow.
O what of joy?
O - what of grief?
Darkness—blank — a sob in the throat.
O phantom, phantom, phantom!'
Pretty good, eh?
Especially if it has
Some little, smudgy, inky
Pictures strung along the edges.
I used to write about
Men and ...
A Business Deal
An ancient joker, grizzled and half-bald,
With the outward seeming and the attire
Of a devout deacon, and yet possessing
The frolicsome nature of an unbroken colt,
Pushed soft his entrance to a long day coach.
The same, to make the purpose of the tale,
Was well-nigh rilled with passengers
Of all degrees. ' Where shall I sit? '
Thus asked the ancient joker, for, in truth,