WEARY

by C.J.Dennis

Oh, I’m sick of the whole darned human race,

And I’m sick of this earthly ball;

I’m sick of the sight of my brother’s face,

And his works and talk and all;

I’m sick of the silly sounds I hear,

I’m sick of the sights I see;

Omar Khayyam he knew good cheer,

And it’s much the same with me.

Give me a bit of a bough to sit

Beneath, and a book of rhyme,

And a cuddlesome girl that sings a bit

But don’t sing all the time;

That’s all I ask, and it’s only just;

For it’s all that I hold dear---

A bough and a book and a girl and a crust;

That and a jug of beer.

Then I’ll cuddle my girl and I’ll quaff my ale

As we sit on the leafy floor;

And when the book and the beer jug fail,

I’ll cuddle my girl some more.

For jugs give out and books get slow,

But you take my tip for square---

Though the bough and the book and the beer jug go,

The girl, she’s always there.

I’m sick of the sound of my fellows’ voice;

I’m sick of their schemes and shams;

Of trying to choose when there ain’t no choice,

And of damning several damns;

So, give me a girl that ain’t too slow.

You can keep your book of rhyme

And your bough and bread and beer. Wot O!

And I’ll cuddle her all the time.



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