The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1879-10-23
HOME INTERESTS.
NV Poetical Experience.

It has been said that poets are born, not
made: vet there are times in the lives OF the
most prosaic persons when their attention is
turned to making" poetry; and especially so
is it at that age
When every Cay seems poem,
And every hour rhyme.
Ihave not been altogether free from the "inclina-
tion." and I respectfully dedicate the sad re-
suit of my unfortunate experience to those who
read this paper, with the hope Of obtaining
the sympathy of those who have suffered from
a similar affection. My fall, as will be seen,
wa more crushing than that Of Napoleon, and
more distressing than had it been down several
flights of stairs. Prof Catch, at the Willamette
University, which attended, gave out to his
class in"J uvenal rhetorical exercise instead OF
the regular lesson, and / was requested to pre-
pare a poem, ana the following is the result
First L started
A DREAM.
The stars shone bright, one winter night,
AS musing and dreaming we tarrled--
But [ was aware no one knew "we," and
that eve" couldn't tarry and dream at the
same time very well, so tried
THE BACHELORS COMPLAINT.
The world ne'er thinks as it coldly greets
Such crusty old bach. as aul-
But, as [ was unable to get rhyme for ("
am, I stopped lnstanter, and thought would
write on
GONE DAYS.
love to think of the merry days
That spent in my childhood's home;
Ere my heart was estranged-
And there l stopped Reason; the subject
had been worn out by gushing school girls and
rhymes-made-t order poets long ago. Not
discouraged, ventured
THE GOLDEN CAsKET.
Leagues, leagues away in distant land.
Where the surging waves beat the shimmering
sand.
And the cry of the sea-gull-
Again I paused. I intended to write a ro-
mantle poem, but as no one cares whether sea-
gulls cry" or the "waves beat the Shore" re-
solved no more to dwell on such nonsensical
lore Therefore, to redeem my despairing fac
ulties, boldly commenced the
SOLDIER ON GUARD.
| am thinking tonight, my vigils keep,
OF the home far away where my family sleep;
of the uncovered cot meath the sunny skies.
want to see 'em again and see their eyes
This was rather a surprise and inelegant,
and my praoticed eye did soon descry the error
to lie III the fourth line; so
''wEPT, wEPT IN TEARS
The silent tears fall gently down
Across my sunburnt cheek
sigh in rain for the hopes and joys
OF years
Soon L perceived the absurdity, for anyone
would know a person COulQnG weep III
smiles; of course it must be in tears.
Therefore l dropped that at once and stopped
and cried then began and tried
AMBITION.
Loftiest theme of poets song
And grander far than all the
Dark shadows of oblivion's relentless grasp
But, like many modern high-flown poems,
the rhyme didn't chime ia proper time to suit
and to boot desired to try my pen On
THE woULD-BE.
TWant to be poet,
But hardly think l will,
For have got throat
Which is Sore-still.
mean to try and conquer,
fill at last firmly stand,
And boldly DER earth saunter,
wOuld-be poet-really the
Greatest in the land.
But I won't plagiarize: I'd steal the tail -feath-
ers of a dead rooster before I'd do that.
"My poem" was not forthcoming at the reci-
taton. I often wonder if our successful
poets ever had such an experience. I
think not To them the songs of the birds,
the dew-drops, and cataract, are the poe
try of nature, but to me they are the language
of that region can never enter. 70 them the
varied scenes painted upon the canvas of ma
ture is a never ending epic whose sweet
cadence and flowing rnurmurs charm the ever
listening ear of genius. love the music, but
cannot produce it. L. Ell. WELLS.
ROSEBURG. Ore.