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Ranch and Range |
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To run a millyun little streams Of joy an' happiness an' smiles— An' then, well, then, talk o' the trials!
"I swallers an' I swallers more, An' stands there blinkin' at the floor; An' then thro' misty eyes I sees A tough old rooster try to sneeze, Pertendin' like he had a cold— Thinks I, 'Old boy, that game is old;1 An* then I pulls my hat cl'ar down An' passes out an' drifts uptown, With that dear song a-ha'ntin' me Jes' like a ghost o' melody.
" ' 'Neath Sunny Southern Skies,' you bet! There hain't a piece been written yet An* played as that there kid played it An* made a heart-shot, center hit.
"That's why this high-flung music goes Right past my ears an' never throws One shiver in my skelp—fer why? B'cause the player's heart is dry. He don't play up the soul-game strong, Or give some heartache to his song; That's why I say my choice I'll throw Strong fer that piece played years ago Out in a camp where homesick hearts Give to the tears some easy starts, An' that there kid jes' closed his eyes An' led me back 'neath southern skies." |
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L31] |
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