Lines
Written by Request of the Proprietors of Windsor Cheese Factory.
Alas! my muse is getting fast;
She uses slang, ’tis very clear.
Last eve, as she was flying past,
She whispered “Cheese it!” in my ear.
I chided her with words like these:
“You slangy jade, avaunt! go by!”
Again she said: “You’d better cheese—
The fact-ory you can’t deny.”
I struck her with my pen and cried,
“Away! you fill my breast with woe
And bitter shame.” She only sighed,
“Oh, whey-er, whey-er shall I go?”
“You talk more like a pilot man”
Said I, “than like a poet’s muse.”
Said she, “I’ll seek the vat-I-can,
But I will fly from such abuse:”
Quoth I, “What’s turned your silly head?
I was but jesting, anyway.”
“My blood is curdling now,” she said.
“But if you press it, I will stay.”
Some sage advise I gave her then,
And boxed her ears, the wicked tease,
And I told her she could cut it;
When I sat down to sing of cheese.
Cheese, lively subject of a poet’s dream,
My thoughts go skipping through the tender theme.
Venerable topic, old as the hills, I sing;
Yet ever new, and green, like love, and spring.
Cheese, savory subject! let me weave a song
Out of my merits, musical and strong.
Others may sing of green grass, if they please,
I sing of it in the useful form of cheese.
The world keeps moving. Now, it’s upside down.
Time was, when pretty maidens of each town
Made all the cheese; and while they pressed the curds,
Their lovers pressed their suits, in earnest words.
Now men make cheese, and press it, and their wives
And daughters worry and torment their lives,
By pressing their suits, new spring suits, the while,
And asking for money, to dress out in style.
Strong-minded sisters, what more can you ask?
Man takes, himself, the burden of your task,
And you enjoy the proceeds, and your “rights,”
For which each woman of the period fights.
Hail! Windsorburgh; may your cheese prove the limb
You '11 walk forth on, in sight of all the world.
And may the fame of Limburg yet grow dim,
When once your banner is unfurled.
Hail! Windsor enterprise, pluck, pride, ambition
Ignoring scoffs, defying competition.
Providence smiles upon your latest plan,
And soaks the grass, to help you all it can.
Three cheers for Windsor, factory and all,
Upon its homes may choicest blessings fall.
And so my song is ended; if you please,
Will Mr. Sherman—E. P.—pass the cheese?
Altre opere di Ella Wheeler Wilcox...
