“UTTER” POETRY.

Globe, Volume XXIII, Issue 2392, 2 December 1881, Page 3

“UTTER” POETRY.

Oscar Wilde, the " utterly too too ” poet of London, has published a volume of his poems which are quit! too awfully remarkable for—for one thing and another—especially the latter. We append a cample, which is called AN POEM. A ling of gold and a milk-white dove Are goodly gifts for thee. And a hempen rope for your own love To hang upon a tree. For you a House of Ivory (Boses are white in the rose-bower) ! A narrow bed for me to lie (White, O white is the hemlock flower) ! Myrtle and jessamine for you (O, the red rose is fair to see]! For me the cypress and the rue (Fairest of all is rose-mary) ! For you three lovers of your hand (Green grass where a man lies dead) For me three paces on the sand (Paint li'ies at my bead) ! It is not difficult to produce such stuff. You simply oil up the machine, give the crank half a dozen turns, and out come lines a little too too-er than Wilde’s—something that might be called AN iESTHETIO-ER POEM. A plate of hash and a bridle cat A sailing on the sea ; For your sister’s beau a pink cravat. To climb a hickory tree. For thee a stick of taffy sweet (Onions are strong in the onion bed) ! A blue-eyed pug for me to greet. (Still, O still, are the entombed dead) An oyster stew or two for you, (O clams are fifty cents a peck)! For me a schooner of Mountain Dew, (Two glasses for a ten-cent check) ! For you a stroll upon the sand, (Bed is the nose of he who drinks) ! For me three pairs in a poker hand, (Bologna sausage is sold in links) ! “Norristown Herald.”