Classic Poem

Glory be, the corner is turned,
And we've given the slip to the old Hoodoo!
Come, Moriarty, I think we've earned
The right to loaf, don't you?
Our score is paid, and we've money galore,
Enough to last us a month or more,
And never a thing to do!
You're hungry you say? Well, I am too,
But stroll this way for half a mile,
Sure the sun is good this afternoon,
Good for a pasty-faced gossoon!
Like you, d'ye hear, Moriarty?
Aye, 'tis a blessed afternoon
For you, ye prison-faced gossoon!
And you're lucky that some are dead!
I'm talking too loud? Aw — go on!
That red liquor has gone to my head,
But I know what I'm doing I tell you!
There's none in this town that you're frightened to meet
And I'm not the sort that would sell you.
But your hungry you say — you want to eat?
Well, come with me to Easy Street,
And I'll show you a tavern to your taste —
To your taste, d'ye hear, Moriarty?

*****

Aw, take your time, boy! What's the haste?
There, where you see that ugly baste
Ayont the Barbecue,
Where the lettering is half erased,
'Twas gold when it was new.
Make out that name there if you can
With your cock-eye: The Black-and-Tan :
That's it: 'tis kept by a Mexican,
And that's were we dine, Moriarty!
It has a long, deep-raftered room
In the Mission style; 'tis a man's room.
And sure you'll like this Mexican,
A fellow to follow a light amour,
A picaroon and a troubadour,
Much of your sort, Moriarty!

*****

Hey, Miguel! Come hear me tell
This hungry friend of mine
How this joint of yours is for epicures
Who like a shady place to dine!
See this long, deep-raftered room,
Half alight and half in gloom,
And yonder a cactus red in bloom,
Just to your taste, Moriarty!
Somehow it puts me in mind of Yvette:
You remember — little Yvette?
Will you ever forget that night when she trackt us
Into the old Savoy, and cried
For us to take her East again,
And we hadn't the price — and then — and then —
All right, Miguel, by the window here:
That horrible rope — it turns me queer
To think of it yet — poor little Yvette —
She always was fond of a cactus!
Yes, beer, Moriarty, beer!
Then order whatever you wish — a dish
Of chowder, perhaps a sole,
Or some foreign thing en casserole,
They're great on that line here!

You leave it to me? Well, on the whole
Of things come far and things come near
I fancy an onion omelette
With bacon on the side!
Or what do you say to a steak Creole
With sweet potatoes fried?
You like these things done Spanish,
And it isn't a Friday yet?
New raisins then and a pint of port
To finish on; they say 'tis good
To iron the blood of a broken sport,
And they keep it here in the wood.

*****

Moriarty, what are ye thinking of?
Be easy, lad! By the lovely dove,
Myself — I could sit in this place for hours!
Those red flowers in the window set
Where the wind gets at them — damn it all
To me they seem to lift and fall
Like the red skirts of little Yvette,
When she danced at the carnival!
Moriarty, lad, if we only knew —
Eh? O, yes! That's all — thank you —
That's all, Miguel, thank you — thank you —
But serve it up hot and Spanish!
And now while I roll me a cigarette
Tune up that old guitar
And sing while we wait, Moriarty!
Sing new songs, and sing till you banish
Out of my heart this grey regret;
Sure that's what you're for, Moriarty!
Sing new songs to that old guitar
Of things come near and things come far,
While I forget, forget, forget,
Watching the rings from my cigarette
Rise to the rafters and vanish!

*****

Watching the rings! How each of them altars!
Each of them alters and alters — and alters —
Moriarty! — see — they're swinging like halters
Just over our heads as they climb!
And after — and after — and after —
Christ! hear that devilish laughter —
That devilish gurgle and laughter!
And there! — see there how each rafter
Is red — dripping red all the time!

*****

No, no, Miguel — I'm well, man — I'm well!
My nerves, that's all! It's passing — this spell:
Moriarty can tell — there's nothing to tell!
Roll me another cigarette,
And sing, damn you! Sing and forget
That laughter — ghost laughter — hereafter!