  Clorinda met me on the way As I came from the train; Her face was anything but gay, In fact, suggested pain. "Oh hubby, hubby dear!" she cried, "I've awful news to tell. . . ." "What is it, darling?" I replied; "Your mother—is she well?" "Oh no! oh no! it is not that, It's something else," she wailed, My heart was beating pit-a-pat, My ruddy visage paled. Like lightning flash in heaven's dome The fear within me woke: "Don't say," I cried, "our little home Has all gone up in smoke!" She shook her head. Oh, swift I clasped And held her to my breast; "The children! Tell me quick," I gasped, "Believe me, it is best." Then, then she spoke; 'mid sobs I caught These words of woe divine: "It's coo-coo-cook has gone and bought A new hat just like mine." At present I am living on bread and milk. By doing this I can rub along for another ten days. The thought pleases me. As long as I have a crust I am master of my destiny. Some day, when I am rich and famous, I shall look back on all this with regret. Yet I think I shall always remain a Bohemian. I hate regularity. The clock was never made for me. I want to eat when I am hungry, sleep when I am weary, drink—well, any old time. I prefer to be alone. Company is a constraint on my spirit. I never make an engagement if I can avoid it. To do so is to put a mortgage on my future. I like to be able to rise in the morning with the thought that the hours before me are all mine, to spend in my own way—to work, to dream, to watch the unfolding drama of life. Here is another of my ballads. It is longer than most, and gave me more trouble, though none the better for that. |
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