Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/14

12 Who held it rapturous to strive; When Art was sacred in our eyes, And it was Heaven to be alive….

O days of glamor, glory, truth, To you to-night I raise my glass; O freehold of immortal youth, Bohemia, the lost, alas! O laughing lads who led the romp, Respectable you’ve grown, I’m told; Your heads you bow to power and pomp, You’ve learned to know the worth of gold. O merry maids who shared our cheer, Your eyes are dim, your locks are gray; And as you scrub I sadly fear Your daughters speed the dance to-day. O windmill land and crescent moon! O Columbine and Pierrette! To you my old guitar I tune Ere I forget, ere I forget….

So come, good men who toil and tire, Who smoke and sip the kindly cup, Ring round about the tavern fire Ere yet you drink your liquor up; And hear my simple songs of earth, Of youth and truth and living things; Of poverty and proper mirth, Of rags and rich imaginings; Of cock-a-hoop, blue-heavened days, Of hearts elate and eager breath,