# The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke/III. The Stoush o' Day

* The Stoush o' Day
* R, these is 'appy days! An' 'ow they've flown—
* Flown like the smoke uv some inchanted fag;
* Since dear Doreen, the sweetest tart I've known,
* Passed me the jolt that made me sky the rag.
* An' ev'ry golding day floats o'er a chap
* Like a glad dream of some celeschil scrap
* Refreshed wiv sleep Day to the mornin' mill
* Comes jauntily to out the nigger, Night.
* Trained to the minute, confident in skill,
* 'E swaggers in the East, chock-full o' skite;
* Then spars a bit, an' plugs Night on the point.
* Out go the stars; an' Day 'as jumped the joint.
* The sun looks up, an' wiv a cautious stare,
* Like some crook keekin' o'er a winder sill
* To make dead cert'in everythink is square,
* 'E shoves 'is boko o'er an Eastern 'ill,
* Then rises, wiv 'is dial all a-grin,
* An' sez, "'Ooray! I knoo that we could win!"
* ​Sure uv 'is title then, the champeen Day
* Begins to put on dawg among 'is push,
* An', as he mooches on 'is gaudy way,
* Drors tribute from each tree an' flow'r an' bush.
* An', w'ile 'e swigs the dew in sylvan bars,
* The sun shouts insults at the sneakin' stars.
* Then, lo! the push o' Day rise to applaud;
* An' all 'is creatures clamour at 'is feet
* Until 'e thinks 'imself a little gawd,
* An' swaggers on an' kids 'imself a treat.
* The w'ile the lurkin' barrackers o' Night
* Sneak in retreat an' plan another fight.
* On thro' the hours, triumphant, proud an' fit,
* The champeen marches on 'is up'ard way,
* Till, at the zenith, bli'me! 'E—is—IT!
* And all the world bows to the Boshter Day.
* The jealous Night speeds messidges thro' space
* 'Otly demandin' terms, an' time, an' place.
* A w'ile the champeen scorns to make reply;
* 'E's taken tickets on 'is own 'igh worth;
* Puffed up wiv pride, an' livin' mighty 'igh,
* 'E don't admit that Night is on the earth.
* But as the hours creep on 'e deigns to state
* 'E'll fight fer all the earth an' 'arf the gate.
* ​Late afternoon… Day feels 'is flabby arms,
* An' tells 'imself 'e don't seem quite the thing.
* The 'omin' birds shriek clamorous alarms;
* An' Night creeps stealthily to gain the ring.
* But see! The champeen backs an' fills, becos
* 'E doesn't feel the Boshter Bloke 'e was.
* Time does a bunk as us-u-al, nor stays
* A single instant, e'en at Day's be'est.
* Alas, the 'eavy-weight's 'igh-livin' ways
* 'As made 'im soft, an' large eround the vest.
* 'E sez 'e's fat inside; 'e starts to whine;
* 'E sez 'e wants to dror the colour line.
* Relentless nigger Night crawls thro' the ropes,
* Advancin' grimly on the quakin' Day,
* Whose noisy push, shorn of their 'igh-noon 'opes,
* Wait, 'ushed an' anxious, fer the comin' fray.
* An' many lusty barrackers uv noon
* Desert 'im one by one—traitors so soon!
* 'E's out uv form! 'E 'asn't trained enough!
* They mark their sickly champeen on the stage,
* An' narked, the sun, 'is backer, in a huff,
* Sneaks outo' sight, red in the face wiv rage.
* W'ile gloomy roosters, they 'oo made the morn
* Ring wiv 'is praises, creep to bed forlorn.
* ​All faint an' groggy grows the beaten Day;
* 'E staggers drunkenly about the ring;
* An owl 'oots jeerin'ly across the way,
* An' bats come out to mock the fallin' King.
* Now, wiv a jolt, Night spreads 'im on the floor,
* An' all the west grows ruddy wiv 'is gore.
* A single, vulgar star leers from the sky
* An' in derision, rudely mutters, "Yah!"
* The moon, Night's conkerbine, come glidin' by
* An' laughs a 'eartless, silvery "Ha-ha!"
* Scorned, beaten, Day gives up the 'opeless fight,
* An' drops 'is bundle in the lap o' Night.
* So goes each day, like some celeschil mill,
* E'er since I met that shyin' little peach.
* 'Er bonzer voice! I 'ear its music still,
* As when she guv that promise fer the beach.
* An', square an' all, no matter 'ow yeh start,
* The common end of most of us is—Tart.