If victory is not yet meant
For me I'll calmly bide my time.
But I should like just once to go
Out fishing on some lake or bay
And not have someone mutter: "Oh,
You should have been here yesterday."

The Pup

He tore the curtains yesterday,
And scratched the paper on the wall;
Ma's rubbers, too, have gone astray--
She says she left them in the hall;
He tugged the table cloth and broke
A fancy saucer and a cup;
Though Bud and I think it a joke
Ma scolds a lot about the pup.

The sofa pillows are a sight,
The rugs are looking somewhat frayed,
And there is ruin, left and right,
That little Boston bull has made.
He slept on Buddy's counterpane--
Ma found him there when she woke up.
I think it needless to explain
She scolds a lot about the pup.

And yet he comes and licks her hand
And sometimes climbs into her lap
And there, Bud lets me understand,
He very often takes his nap.
And Bud and I have learned to know
She wouldn't give the rascal up:
She's really fond of him, although
She scolds a lot about the pup.

Since Jessie Died

We understand a lot of things we never did before,
And it seems that to each other Ma and I are meaning more.
I don't know how to say it, but since little Jessie died
We have learned that to be happy we must travel side by side.
You can share your joys and pleasures, but you never come to know
The depth there is in loving, till you've got a common woe.

We're past the hurt of fretting--we can talk about it now:
She slipped away so gently and the fever left her brow
So softly that we didn't know we'd lost her, but, instead,
We thought her only sleeping as we watched beside her bed.
Then the doctor, I remember, raised his head, as if to say
What his eyes had told already, and Ma fainted dead away.

Up to then I thought that money was the thing I ought to get;
And I fancied, once I had it, I should never have to fret.
But I saw that I had wasted precious hours in seeking wealth;
I had made a tidy fo