I am not without sagacity,
Be it ne'er so small a share.
This I know, though ye be scorning at
What I know not, though ye mock,
Birdies wake me every morning at
Four o'clock.



To Alice--Sit--By--The--Hour


Lady in the blue kimono, you that live across the way,
One may see you gazing, gazing, gazing all the livelong day,
Idly looking out your window from your vantage point above.
Are you convalescent, lady? Are you worse? Are you in love?

Ever gazing, as you hang there on the little window seat,
Into flats across the way or down upon the prosy street.
Can't you rent a pianola? Can't you iron, sew, or cook?
Write a letter, bake a pudding, make a bed or read a book?

Tell me of the fascination you indubitably find
In the "High Cash Cloe's!" man's holler, in the hurdy--gurdy grind.
Are your Spanish castles blue prints? Are you waiting for a knight
To descend upon your fastness and to save you from your plight?

Lady in the blue kimono, idle, mollycoddle dame,
Does your doing nothing never make you feel the blush of shame?
As you sit and stare and ditto, not a single thing to do,