Poems by C. J. Dennis

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Happy Heathen: (With limited apologies to G.K.C.)



The heathen's not efficient;
He sits down in the sun
And doesn't care a tuppn'y dump
When the day's work's begun.
He works to eat and eats to live,
All day he'll dance and sing;
And if you mention overtime
He laughs like anything.

But we are most efficient!
And, goodness! Look at us!
Our nights are filled with restless dreams,
Our days with fret and fuss.
And we can have depressions
And modern things like that,
And monoplanes and motor cars
And trousers and a hat....

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

Her Majesty the Rose



Here in my garden at the long day's close
I sing again her Majesty the Rose.
The Rose who can with magic most complete
Bring worshippers again about her feet
Forsaking other loves, who, thro' the year
Had won them by sheer beauty, shining clear.
Now, where the Queen beside the trellis grows,
Courtiers acclaim, "Her Majesty the Rose!"

The Rhododendron by her side appears
With all that magic quality of tears;
Patrician truly, yet still lacking, she,
That touch of rare imperial majesty.
Viola, violet worship at her feet;
Proudly the flaunting poppy would compete,
Yet fails, for all her striving, to disclose
The grace that guards her Majesty the Rose....

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

In A Forest Garden: A Promise of Spring



Spring surely must be near. High over head
The kind blue heavens bend to timbers tall;
And here, this morning, is the picture spread
That I have learned to love the best of all.
I hear Flame Robin call
His early love-song. Winter's might is sped;
And young crows now begin to fleck with red
This great green, living wall.

Picture of promise, that I count the best
Of many a fair familiar Bushland scene;
Lifting o'er all, the far mount's sunlit crest
Looks down where silver wattles lightly screen
Blue smoke, that peeps between
Their tall tops, from some settler's hidden nest --
Looks down on golden wattles closely pressed
To blackwood's luscious green....

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

Introduction: Rose of Spadgers



I've crawled; I've eaten dirt; I've lied a treat;
I've dodged the cops an' led a double life;
I've readied up wild tales to tell me wife,
W'ich afterwards I've 'ad to take an' eat
Red raw. Aw, I been goin' it to beat
A big massed band: mixin' with sin an' strife,
Gettin' me bellers punchered with a knife
An' all but endin' up in Russell Street.

I've mixed it -- with the blessin' uv the church --
Down there in Spadgers, fightin' mad, an' blind
With 'oly rage. I've 'ad full leaf to smirch
Me tongue with sich rude words as come to mind,
Becos I 'ated leavin' in the lurch
Wot Ginger Mick, me cobber, left be'ind....

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

Mid-Winter Monody



There's a bleak, black world without,
And the rain falls fast;
And the wind, with a whine and a shout,
Blows buffeting past
To wail thro' the tortured trees,
With cold wet breath,
Like a choir of dank banshees
Foretelling death.

I sit by the fire and I now,
And I juggle with rhymes.
Oh, the ways of our world grow odd,
And the trend of our times.
My tired eyes roam the news,
These columns tell
Of earth and its warring views,
And I sigh, "Well, well!"...

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

Old Town Types No. 29 - Miss Trapp, The Music Teacher



"One-and-two-and-three-and-four --
You're playing it by ear, boy! Eyes upon the score!"
Miss Trapp, the music teacher, very prim and staid,
English and respectable, the town's old maid,
Sitting in her "front room," elderly and stern,
While a grubby urchin struggles with the notes he'll never learn.
"One-and-two-and-one-and-two --
You're playing it at random! This will nevah, nevah do!"

No one knew her history or why she settled down
To "Singing and Pianoforte" in our old town;
With her soft voice and grey dress, the folk called her "The Dove;"
And the story somehow got about that she'd been "crossed in love."
And so, her fancied tragedy clothed her in vague romance --
"So well-connected, too, my dear. You'd see that that a glance"...

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

One Happy Man



Today I met a happy man
Greeting the glad new year.
About his face the sunbeams ran
And danced, as straightaway he began
To laugh with right good cheer.
His garb was mean, tho' neat and clean;
No scarf, no hat had he.
He seemed indeed to be in need
And touched by poverty.

"Good friend," said I, "why do you laugh
And chortle in the sun,
When we've a bitter cut to quaff.
With profits down to less than half
And gloom for every one?
Know you that these are troublous days,
And life a stern affair,
And all must tread uncertain ways,
Haunted by grim despair?"...

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

Rose



"Ah, wot's the use?" she sez. "Lea' me alone!
Why can't I go to 'ell in my own way?
I never arst you 'ere to mag an' moan.
Nor yet," she sez, "to pray.
I'll take wot's comin', an' whine no excuse.
So wot's the use?

"Me life's me own!" she sez. "You got a nerve --
You two -- to interfere in my affairs.
Git out an' give advise where it may serve:
Stay 'ome an' bleat yer pray'rs.
Did I come pleadin' for yer pity? No!
Well, why not go?"

Pride! Dilly pride an' down-an'-out despair:
When them two meet there's somethin' got to break....

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

Spring Delirium



Gold days give way to sudden rain,
But what, I ask, of that?
For I am my own man again,
And gloom comes sprawling flat.
Let grouchers grieve and nurse the hump
Because bleak winds still shout;
But I don't care a tupp'ny dump;
From zero - whoop! - my spirits jump:
The daffodils are out.

Hail bloom of golden promise! Hail!
These trumpets sing of hope.
To mock grim Winter's weakening flail
And shame the misanthrope.
All hail! And hail again, for luck.
Hence, cold and clammy doubt!
Come, Spring! Come, honey-bee and suck;
Into this heady nector tuck!
The daffodils are out!...

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Poems by C. J. Dennis

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