Worcester Democrat and the ledger-enterprise. (Pocomoke City, Md.) 1921-1953, 1935-04-12
"Chiirps'' ~
from the
Democrats Pen

lew, said one time:
How beautiful is the rain!
After the dust and heat,
In the broad and fiery street,
And in the narrow lane;
How beautiful is the rain!
And N. p, Willis, he comes along
with. ssThe rain is playing its soft
rleasant tune fitfully on the skylight,
and the shade of the fast-flying clouds
masses with delicate change across my
book" >.
And Thomson keeps up the poetic
strain thusly: "The clouds consign
their treasures to the fields, and, soft
" shaking on the dimpled pool pre-
lusive drops, let all their moisture
flow in large effusion, DER the fresh
ened world"
Humph! Wonder if those fellows
ever wrote any of their effusions dur
ing a spell like we have been having.
BEST if can see any inspiration for
the poetic muse in what's been coming
down on us for the past IL or IL days.
But I reckon I haven't the artistic
instinct. In order to appreciate art,
one must be somewhat of an artist
oneself. A man can't enjoy high class
music, without having some OF the
melody in his soul. He can't look on
a painting with any enjoyment unless
he is sensible to coloring, prospective,
expression and the like.
And SO he can't view the moisture
from the skies with poets eye, un-
less he really is poet. Now, Willis
talks about the beautiful and delicate
shade passing from the flying clouds
across his book. That's all right, but
when that cloud pours lot of water
down on the roof, and that roof leaks,
and the drops come right down on
your book, doing it no good, to say the
least, I feel like saying a. few words
that might not sound melodious. :
When the north wind romps with
those same drops, and they find way
into the house via the window sill,
spelling some new paper, you've just
spent your hard earned dollars for,
do you feel like singing your soul away
to mansions in the skies? What did
you say? That's what I thought.
Honest to goodness, don't believe
those writer's of poesy ever saw it rain
real hard; ever saw it come down on
a previous fall of snow, making the
beautiful snow" look like the refuse
from beer vat; ever walked out in
it and heard it sqush up your shoe
soles and kindly caress your feet; ever
saw it swirl and roar, causing torrents
and washouts, with consequent loss
of millions of dollars.
No, Sir, all they thought about was
the little shower, that fell so soothing
~ upon the lawn grass; and if there
happened to be cloud oppoite the sun
on which the glory Of a rainbow may
be depicted these refined and artistic
souls go off in rhapsodies about "the
beautiful rain" I sorta' think if Mr..
Longfellow, Willis, or Thomson had
been here during this little spell of wet
weather, their poetic genius would
have been drowned out, and their
thoughts would probably have turned
to sleep-a bed, till the sun had de-
eided to appear above the horizon
once more. You know one of the old
writer's once said:
"In bed we laugh,
In bed we cry;
In bed are born;
In bed we die;
The near approach the bed doth
show,
Of human bliss to human VICE."
am sure that in time like we have
had lately the poet, like Napoleon,
would say: "The bed has become a
place of luxury to me. would not
exchange it for all the thrones in the
world"
Well, we'll live in hopes that lit
tie piece Of sunshine is just around the
corner of that cloud; and, maybe, be-
fore long, we'll be eagerly looking for
a drop O. rain on that crop we've
planted. Such is life!