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Best Famous Ellis Parker Butler Poems

Here is a collection of the all-time best famous Ellis Parker Butler poems. This is a select list of the best famous Ellis Parker Butler poetry. Reading, writing, and enjoying famous Ellis Parker Butler poetry (as well as classical and contemporary poems) is a great past time. These top poems are the best examples of Ellis Parker Butler poems.

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Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

The Poor Boy's Christmas

 Observe, my child, this pretty scene,
And note the air of pleasure keen
With which the widow’s orphan boy
Toots his tin horn, his only toy.
What need of costly gifts has he? The widow has nowhere to flee.
And ample noise his horn emits To drive the widow into fits.
MORAL: The philosophic mind can see The uses of adversity.

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |


 The forest holds high carnival to-day,
And every hill-side glows with gold and fire;
Ivy and sumac dress in colors gay,
And oak and maple mask in bright attire.
The hoarded wealth of sober autumn days In lavish mood for motley garb is spent, And nature for the while at folly plays, Knowing the morrow brings a snowy Lent.

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

The Ballad Of A Bachelor

 Listen, ladies, while I sing
The ballad of John Henry King.
John Henry was a bachelor, His age was thirty-three or four.
Two maids for his affection vied, And each desired to be his bride, And bravely did they strive to bring Unto their feet John Henry King.
John Henry liked them both so well, To save his life he could not tell Which he most wished to be his bride, Nor was he able to decide.
Fair Kate was jolly, bright, and gay, And sunny as a summer day; Marie was kind, sedate, and sweet, With gentle ways and manners neat.
Each was so dear that John confessed He could not tell which he liked best.
He studied them for quite a year, And still found no solution near, And might have studied two years more Had he not, walking on the shore, Conceived a very simple way Of ending his prolonged delay-- A way in which he might decide Which of the maids should be his bride.
He said, "I'll toss into the air A dollar, and I'll toss it fair; If heads come up, I'll wed Marie; If tails, fair Kate my bride shall be.
" Then from his leather pocket-book A dollar bright and new he took; He kissed one side for fair Marie, The other side for Kate kissed he.
Then in a manner free and fair He tossed the dollar in the air.
"Ye fates," he cried, "pray let this be A lucky throw indeed for me!" The dollar rose, the dollar fell; He watched its whirling transit well, And off some twenty yards or more The dollar fell upon the shore.
John Henry ran to where it struck To see which maiden was in luck.
But, oh, the irony of fate! Upon its edge the coin stood straight! And there, embedded in the sand, John Henry let the dollar stand! And he will tempt his fate no more, But live and die a bachelor.
Thus, ladies, you have heard me sing The ballad of John Henry King.

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Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

The Rich Boy's Christmas

 And now behold this sulking boy,
His costly presents bring no joy;
Harsh tears of anger fill his eye
Tho’ he has all that wealth can buy.
What profits it that he employs His many gifts to make a noise? His playroom is so placed that he Can cause his folks no agony.
MORAL: Mere worldly wealth does not possess The power of giving happiness.

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

The Golf Walk

 Behold, my child, this touching scene,
The golfer on the golfing-green;
Pray mark his legs’ uncanny swing,
The golf-walk is a gruesome thing!

See how his arms and shoulders ride
Above his legs in haughty pride,
While over bunker, hill and lawn
His feet, relentless, drag him on.
And does the man walk always so? Nay! nay I my child, and eke, oh! no! It is a gait he only knows When he has on his golfing clothes.
Blame not the man for that strange stride He could not help it if he tried; It is his timid feet that try From his obstreperous clothes to fly.

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

Song For Heroes

 Captain O’Hare was a mariner brave;
He refused to abandon his ship;
A hero, he sleeps in a watery grave—
And his widow is now Mrs.
Bipp, Haw! Haw! His widow is now Mrs.
Bipp! Henri Dupont was a fearless young ace; Five thousand feet up he was hit; Each year on his grave pretty flowers we place— And his widow is now Mrs.
Schmitt, Haw! Haw! His widow is now Mrs.
Schmitt! Corporal Dunn was a volunteer bold; He plunged in the deadliest fray; A bayonet thrust laid him out stony cold— And his widow is now Mrs.
Gray, Haw! Haw! His widow is now Mrs.
Gray! But Peter McGuck was a cowardly sneak, Like a hound he remained home in fear; When fishing one day he fell into the creek— And his widow is now Mrs.
Greer, Haw! Haw! Haw! Mrs.
William O’Houlihan Greer!

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

How'd You Like It?

 Well, then! How’d you like to bear the name of Butler
 As an honor badge eight centuries at least,
And then have the Prohibitionists inform you
 That a butler is a sort of outlawed beast?

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

Why Washington Retreated


Said Congress to George Washington:
 “To set this country free,
You’ll have to whip the Britishers
 And chase them o’er the sea.
” “Oh, very well,” said Washington, “I’ll do the best I can.
I’ll slam and bang those Britishers And whip them to a man.
” 1777 Said Congress to George Washington: “The people all complain; Why don’t you fight? You but retreat And then retreat again.
” “That can’t be helped,” said Washington, “As you will quite agree When you see how the novelists Have mixed up things for me.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “Pray make your meaning clear.
” Said Washington: “Why, certainly— But pray excuse this tear.
Of course we know,” said Washington, “The object of this war— It is to furnish novelists With patriotic lore.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “Yes! yes! but pray proceed.
” Said Washington: “My part in it Is difficult indeed, For every hero in the books Must sometime meet with me, And every sweet-faced heroine I must kiss gallantly.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “But why must you retreat?” Said Washington: “One moment, please, My story to complete.
These hero-folk are scattered through The whole United States; At every little country town A man or maiden waits.
” To Congress said George Washington: “At Harlem I must be On such a day to chat with one, And then I’ll have to flee With haste to Jersey, there to meet Another.
Here’s a list Of sixty-seven heroes, and There may be some I’ve missed.
” To Congress said George Washington: “Since I must meet them all (And if I don’t you know how flat The novels all will fall), I cannot take much time to fight, I must be on the run, Or some historic novelist Will surely be undone.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “You are a noble man.
Your thoughtfulness is notable, And we approve your plan; A battle won pads very well A novel that is thin, But it is better to retreat Than miss one man and win.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “Kiss every pretty maid, But do it in a courtly way And in a manner staid— And some day when your sword is sheathed And all our banners furled, A crop of novels will spring up That shall appal the world.

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |


 I bowed my head in anguish sore
 When Life made Death his bride;
“Soul, we are lost forever more!”
 Unto my soul I cried.
“Nay, waste in wailing not thy breath,” My soul replied to me, “Behold! The child of Life and Death Is Immortality!”

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

Reasonable Interest

 I want to know how Bernard Shaw
Likes beefsteak—fairly done, or raw?
I want to know what kinds of shoes
Maeterlinck and Howells use.
I have great curiosity Regarding George Ade’s new boot tree.
Has Carolyn Wells of late employed Hairpins of wire or celluliod? What kind of soap does London like? Does Robert Chambers ever “hike”? Or did he ever? Or, if not, Does he like cabbage, cheese, or what? I want to know the size of gloves Oppenheim wears, and if he loves Olives, and how his clothes are made.
What does he eat? How is he paid? All sorts of things I want to learn, That are not of the least concern To any one.
For, Oh! and Oh! I want to know! I WANT TO KNOW! I want to know, and know I will— The printing press is never still, For me it prints such facts as these! I am the Public, if you please!

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

Merry Christmas And Happy New Year!

 Little cullud Rastus come a-skippin’ down de street,
A-smilin’ and a-grinnin’ at every one he meet;
My, oh! He was happy! Boy, but was he gay!
Wishin’ “Merry Chris’mus” an’ “Happy New-Year’s Day”!
Wishin’ that his wishes might every one come true—
And—bless your dear heart, honey,—I wish the same to you!

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

Good - Better - Best

 When young, in tones quite positive
I said, "The world shall see
That I can keep myself from sin;
A good man I will be.
" But when I loved Miss Kate St.
Clair 'Twas thus my musing ran: "I cannot be compared with her; I'll be a better man.
" 'Twas at the wedding of a friend (He married Kate St.
Clair) That I became superlative, For I was "best man" there.

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

A St. Valentine's Day Tragedy

 Oh! Montmorency Vere de Vere,
To think that one I held so dear
Should use a base deceiver’s art
To trifle with my loving heart.
A brand new ten-cent valentine With lace and hearts and verses fine, I sent to show my love for thee And in return you send to me The one I sent to you last year, Oh! Montmorency Vere de Vere.

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

A Study In Feeling

 To be a great musician you must be a man of moods,
You have to be, to understand sonatas and etudes.
To execute pianos and to fiddle with success, With sympathy and feeling you must fairly effervesce; It was so with Paganini, Remenzi and Cho-pang, And so it was with Peterkin Von Gabriel O’Lang.
Monsieur O’Lang had sympathy to such a great degree.
No virtuoso ever lived was quite so great as he; He was either very happy or very, very sad; He was always feeling heavenly or oppositely bad; In fact, so sympathetic that he either must enthuse Or have the dumps; feel ecstacy or flounder in the blues.
So all agreed that Peterkin Von Gabriel O’Lang Was the greatest violinist in the virtuoso gang.
The ladies bought his photographs and put them on the shelves In the place of greatest honor, right beside those of themselves; They gladly gave ten dollars for a stiff backed parquette chair.
And sat in mouth-wide happiness a-looking at his hair.
I say “a looking at his hair,” I mean just what I say, For no one ever had a chance to hear P.
O’Lang play; So subtle was his sympathy, so highly strung was he, His moods were barometric to the very last degree; The slightest change of weather would react upon his brain, And fill his soul with joyousness or murder it with pain.
And when his soul was troubled he had not the heart to play.
But let his head droop sadly down in such a soulful way, That every one that saw him declared it was worth twice (And some there were said three times) the large admission price; And all were quite unanimous and said it would be crude For such a man to fiddle when he wasn’t in the mood.
But when his soul was filled with joy he tossed his flowing hair And waved his violin-bow in great circles in the air; Ecstaticly he flourished it, for so his spirit thrilled, Thus only could he show the joy with which his heart was filled; And so he waved it up and down and ’round and out and in,— But he never, never, NEVER touched it to his violin!

Written by Ellis Parker Butler |

A Satisfactory Reform

 A merry burgomaster
 In a burgh upon the Rhine
Said, “Our burghers all are
 Far too fond of drinking wine.
” So the merry burgomaster, When the burgomasters met, Bade them look into the matter Ere the thing went farther yet.
And the merry burgomasters Did decide the only way To alleviate the evil Without worry or delay Would be just to call a meeting Of the burghers, great and small, And then open every wine cask And proceed to drink it all.
“For,” they said, “when we have swallowed Every drop that’s in the land, There can be no more of drinking, It is plain to understand.
” So they called a monster meeting, And the burghers, small and great, Drank and drank until they were too Tipsy to perambulate.
But there still was wine in plenty, So, in sooth, the only way Was to call another meeting; So they called it for next day.
Thus from day to day the burghers Met and swallowed seas of wine, And they vowed the reformation Was a mission quite divine.
And today the worthy burghers In that burgh upon the Rhine Still continue their great mission, And still swallow seas of wine.
And they vow they will not falter In their great reforming task Till the last drop has been emptied From the very last wine cask.