Verse > Anthologies > Louis Untermeyer, ed. > Modern American Poetry
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Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern American Poetry.  1919.
 
Charles E. Carryl. 1841–
 
4. Robinson Crusoe's Story
 
    THE night was thick and hazy 
    When the "Piccadilly Daisy" 
Carried down the crew and captain in the sea; 
    And I think the water drowned 'em; 
    For they never, never found 'em,         5
And I know they didn't come ashore with me. 
  
    Oh! 'twas very sad and lonely 
    When I found myself the only 
Population on this cultivated shore; 
    But I've made a little tavern  10
    In a rocky little cavern, 
And I sit and watch for people at the door. 
  
    I spent no time in looking 
    For a girl to do my cooking, 
As I'm quite a clever hand at making stews;  15
    But I had that fellow Friday, 
    Just to keep the tavern tidy, 
And to put a Sunday polish on my shoes. 
  
    I have a little garden 
    That I'm cultivating lard in,  20
As the things I eat are rather tough and dry; 
    For I live on toasted lizards, 
    Prickly pears, and parrot gizzards, 
And I'm really very fond of beetle-pie. 
  
    The clothes I had were furry,  25
    And it made me fret and worry 
When I found the moths were eating off the hair; 
    And I had to scrape and sand 'em, 
    And I boiled 'em and I tanned 'em, 
Till I got the fine morocco suit I wear.  30
  
    I sometimes seek diversion 
    In a family excursion 
With the few domestic animals you see; 
    And we take along a carrot 
    As refreshment for the parrot,  35
And a little can of jungleberry tea. 
  
    Then we gather as we travel, 
    Bits of moss and dirty gravel, 
And we chip off little specimens of stone; 
    And we carry home as prizes  40
    Funny bugs, of handy sizes, 
Just to give the day a scientific tone. 
  
    If the roads are wet and muddy 
    We remain at home and study,— 
For the Goat is very clever at a sum,—  45
    And the Dog, instead of fighting, 
    Studies ornamental writing, 
While the Cat is taking lessons on the drum. 
  
    We retire at eleven, 
    And we rise again at seven;  50
And I wish to call attention, as I close, 
    To the fact that all the scholars 
    Are correct about their collars, 
And particular in turning out their toes. 
 
 
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