Verse > Anthologies > Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. > The Book of New York Verse
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Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed.  The Book of New York Verse.  1917.
 
Ballade of Barristers
By C. C. Starkweather
 
TO the shy, sweet face that I saw this morning,
  I toss this kiss from my window-sill.
And mayhap my partner will give me warning
  If I shove not quicker my grey goose-quill.
  I’ve twenty folios yet to fill.        5
So it’s Blue Eyes, Down! till this deed is drawn;
For Maiden Lane’s not a lover’s lawn,
  And the rattle of Broadway never is still.
 
From seal and parchment and dust-covered papers,
  My thoughts fly back to her—willy nil.        10
I lunch at Cable’s on lamb and capers,
  And a secret bumper I drain with Phil,
  And I smile when he leaves me to pay the bill.
Oh, it’s Blue Eyes, Down! till this deed is drawn;
For Maiden Lane’s not a lover’s lawn,        15
  And the rattle of Broadway never is still.
 
My office is no conservatory;
  Its walls are like blanks for a clerk to fill;
But that mignonette, jasmine, and morning-glory
  The charms of a whole hothouse would kill        20
  In the white vase there, on the window-sill.
But it’s Blue Eyes, Down! till this deed is drawn;
For Maiden Lane’s not a lover’s lawn,
  And the rattle of Broadway never is still.
 
ENVOY
Barristers! with brief-bags to fill
        25
  It’s Blue Eyes, Down! till the deeds are drawn,
  For Maiden Lane’s not a lover’s lawn,
And the rattle of Broadway never is still.
 
 
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