A Barren "Idealty."

A poem by George W. Doneghy

This song that I sing--
It is not of a spring,
Nor yet of a silvery stream--
But of a vision bright
Which came last night
In the garb of a blissful dream--
When I thought, as I lay,
It was Thanksgiving Day,
And I was invited to dine
Where a table stood
On which everything good
Spread a feast that was almost divine!

Where the savors arose,
Right under my nose,
From turkey--and pumpkin pies;
And from jolly roast pig
Were slices as big
As some of the campaign lies!
And celery so white
'Twas a thing of delight
To bite the crisp stalks in two.
And the cranberry sauce--
Oh, I tell you 'twas boss--
And flanked by an oyster stew!

Where the bread and the cake--
The best they can bake--
Were cut into slices heroic.
And the amber ice cream
Melted into my dream
Like love to the heart of a 'poet';
And they heaped up my plate,
And I sat there and ate
Till I awoke with a yell,
And a shiver and shake
And a pain and an ache
That rudely my dream did dispel!

But dreams, as you know,
By contraries go,
And thus I fear if it will be
With the one of delight
That came last night
When I feasted so heartily;
And Thanksgiving Day
In the usual way
Will come to me, don't you see,
And the dinner I had
And the ache that was bad
Prove a----barren "idealty"!

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