Alf’s Twelfth Bit
BALLAD FOR THE TIMES' SPECIAL SILVER NUMBER
Sez the Times a silver lining
Is what has set us pining,
I make a pact with you, Walt Whitman -
I have detested you long enough.
I come to you as a grown child
Who has had a pig-headed father;
The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast -
No, no! Go from me. I have left her lately.
I will not spoil my sheath with lesser brightness,
For my surrounding air hath a new lightness;
Slight are her arms, yet they have bound me straitly
Sing we for love and idleness,
Naught else is worth the having.
Though I have been in many a land,