Perverted Proverbs: A Manual of Immorals for the Many

Perverted Proverbs: A Manual of Immorals for the Many
Harry Graham

Graham Harry

Perverted Proverbs: A Manual of Immorals for the Many

Dedicated to

Helen Whitney

Do you recall those bygone days,
When you received with kindly praise
My bantling book of Rhyme?
Praise undeserved, alas! and yet
How sweet! For, tho' we had not met,
(Ah! what a waste of time!)
I could the more enjoy such mercies
Since I delighted in your verses.

And when a Poet stoops to smile
On some one of the rank and file,
(Inglorious – if not mute,)
Some groundling bard who craves to climb,
Like me, the dizzy rungs of Rhyme,
To reach the Golden Fruit;
For one in such a situation
The faintest praise is no damnation.

Parnassus heights must surely pall;
For simpler diet do you call,
Of nectar growing tired?
These verses to your feet I bring,
Drawn from an unassuming spring,
Well-meant – if not inspired;
O charming Poet's charming daughter,
Descend and taste my toast and water!

For you alone these lines I write,
That, reading them, your brow may light
Beneath its crown of bays;
Your eyes may sparkle like a star,
With friendship, that is dearer far
Than any breath of praise;
The which a lucky man possessing
Can ask no higher human blessing.

And, though the "salt estranging sea"
Be widely spread 'twixt you and me,
We have what makes amends;
And since I am so glad of you,
Be glad of me a little, too,
Because of being friends.
And, if I earn your approbation,
Accept my humble dedication.

    H. G.

Foreword

The Press may pass my Verses by
With sentiments of indignation,
And say, like Greeks of old, that I
Corrupt the Youthful Generation;
I am unmoved by taunts like these —
(And so, I think, was Socrates).

Howe'er the Critics may revile,
I pick no journalistic quarrels,
Quite realizing that my Style
Makes up for any lack of Morals;
For which I feel no shred of shame —
(And Byron would have felt the same).

I don't intend a Child to read
These lines, which are not for the Young;
For, if I did, I should indeed
Feel fully worthy to be hung.
(Is "hanged" the perfect tense of "hang"?
Correct me, Mr. Andrew Lang!)

O Young of Heart, tho' in your prime,
By you these Verses may be seen!
Accept the Moral with the Rhyme,
And try to gather what I mean.
But, if you can't, it won't hurt me!
(And Browning would, I know, agree.)

Be reassured, I have not got
The style of Stephen Phillips' heroes,
Nor Henry Jones's pow'r of Plot,
Nor wit like Arthur Wing Pinero's!
(If so, I should not waste my time
In writing you this sort of rhyme.)

I strive to paint things as they Are,
Of Realism the true Apostle;
All flow'ry metaphors I bar,
Nor call the homely thrush a "throstle."
Such synonyms would make me smile.