Works

Behold Belasco in his den,
Wielding the scissors, paste and pen,
And writing with consummate skill
A play by W. De Mille.

When People think that Kittens play,
It's really quite the other way.
For when they chase the Ball or Bobbin
They learn to catch a Mouse or Robin.

The Kitten, deaf to Duty's call,...

Up into the Cherry Tree,
Who should climb but little me,
With both my Paws I hold on tight,
And look upon a pleasant sight.

There are the Gardens far away,
Where little Foreign Kittens play,...

Kittens large and Kittens small,
Prowling on the Back Yard Wall,
Though your fur be rough and few,
I should like to play with you.
Though you roam the dangerous street,
And have curious things to eat,...

In things like this I've always tried
To look upon the Brighter Side;
And when I see the Prince, I say
"The Crown's worth something anyway."

Somehow I always like to think
Of GEORGEADE as a Summer Drink,
Sparkling and cool, with just a Tang
Of Pleasant Effervescent Slang;
A Wholesome Tonic, without question,
And Cure for Moral Indigestion....

The very name of Bernard Shaw
Fills me with mingled Mirth and Awe.
Mixture of Mephistopheles,
Don Quixote, and Diogenes,
The Devil's wit, the Don's Romance
Joined to the Cynic's arrogance....

Unless I'm very much misled,
Chesterton's easier done than said.
I have not seen him, but his looks
I can imagine from his books.

When Plain Folk, such as you or I,
See the Sun sinking in the sky,
We think it is the Setting Sun,
But Mr. Gilbert Chesterton
Is not so easily misled.
He calmly stands upon his head,...

Kittens, you are very little,
And your kitten bones are brittle,
If you'd grow to Cats respected,
See your play be not neglected.

Smite the Sudden Spool, and spring
Upon the Swift Elusive String,...

I like Marconi best to see
Beneath a Macaroni tree
Playing that Nocturne in F Sharp
By Chopin, on a Wireless Harp.

When Hafiz saw the portrait free,
By Monty Flagg, of him and me,
He made remarks one can't repeat
In any reputable sheet.

The world is so full of a number of Mice
I'm sure that we all should be happy and nice.

I once drew Ibsen, looking bored
Across a deep Norwegian Fjord,
And very nearly every one
Mistook him for the midnight sun.

Here's looking
at you, dear!
though I should pour
A sea of wine,
my eyes would
thirst for more.

From Hiram Maxim's hair you'd think
His specialty was spilling ink--
You'd never dream he'd spilt more blood
Than any one man since the Flood.

When Paderewski is forgot,
Our children's children, like as not,
Will worship in the Hall of Fame,
Some great piano-maker's name.

At evening when the lamp is lit,
The tired Human People sit
And doze, or turn with solemn looks
The speckled pages of their books.

Then I, the Dangerous Kitten, prowl...

This picture though it is not much
Like Zangwill, is not void of worth
It has one true Zangwillian touch
It looks like nothing else on earth.

I'm told the Artist who aspires
To draw Forbes-Robertson requires
A Sargent's brush. Dear me! how sad!
I've lost the only one I had.