No.125

When They Begin The Beguine

Cole Porter  1891-1964

When they begin the beguine,

It brings back the sound of music so tender,

It brings back a night of tropical splendour,

It brings back a memory ever green.

I'm with you once more under the stars

And down by the shore an orchestra's playing

And even the palms seem to be swaying,

When they begin the beguine.

To live it again is past all endeavour

Except when that tune clutches my heart,

And there we are swearing to love forever

And promising never, never to part.

What moments divine, what rapture serene,

Till clouds came along to disperse the joys we had tasted

And now when I hear people curse the chance that was wasted,

I know but too well what they mean.

So don't let them begin the beguine,

Let the love that was once a fire remain an ember,

Let it sleep like the dead desire I only remember,

When they begin the beguine.

Oh yes, let them begin the beguine, make them play

Till the stars that were there before return above you,

Till you whisper to me once more, darling I love you,

And we suddenly know what heaven we're in,

When they begin the beguine.

-o0o-

No.124

Warning

Jenny Joseph

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple

With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.

And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves

And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired

And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells

And run my stick along the public railings

And make up for the sobriety of my youth.

I shall go out in my slippers in the rain

And pick flowers in other people's gardens

And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat

And eat three pounds of sausages at a go

Or only bread and pickle for a week

And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry

And pay our rent and not swear in the street

And set a good example for the children.

We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?

So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised

When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

-o0o-

No.123

Lucy

William Wordsworth 1770-1850

She dwelt among the untrodden ways

Beside the springs of Dove,

A Maid whom there were none to praise

And very few to love:

A violet by a mossy stone

Half hidden from the eye!

Fair as a star, when only one

Is shining in the sky.

She lived unknown, and few could know

When Lucy ceased to be;

But she is in her grave, and oh,

The difference to me!

-o0o-

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods

 George Gordon, Lord Byron 1788-1824

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is a rapture on the lonely shore, 

There is society, where none intrudes, 

By the deep sea, and music in its roar: 

I love not man the less, but Nature more, 

From these our interviews, in which I steal 

From all I may be, or have been before, 

To mingle with the Universe, and feel 

What I can ne'er express, yet cannot all conceal. 

-o0o-

The Monday Monologue

If You'll Pardon My Saying So

(Watkins the family butler addresses his young master who is still in bed)

A lady to see you, Mr. Archibald, sir.

The matter appears to be pressing.

Luncheon was served quite an hour ago,

I didn’t awaken you, sir, as you know.

There are times, sir, when sleep is a blessing.

I have here some ice, sir, to put on your head,

And also a whisky and 'polly'.

I don't know what time you retired to bed,

But the party sir, must have been jolly…

…If you'll pardon my saying so.

The lady in question a-waiting below,

Is accompanied, sir, by her mother,

And also a prize-fighting gentleman, sir,

A pugnacious character one might infer,

Whom the lady describes as her brother.

The elderly female is quite commonplace,

A most vulgar person, I fear, sir,

Who shouts in a nerve wracking falsetto voice,

And her language is painful to hear, sir…

…If you'll pardon my saying so.

The prize-fighter person is burning with hate.

He refers to you, sir, as a 'twister.'

He threatens to alter the shape of your 'clock,'

To break you in half, sir, and knock off your 'block,'

Unless you do right by his sister.

The young lady says, sir, with trembling lips,

That you made her a promise of marriage.

She wants to know why she should eat fish and chips,

While you, sir, ride by in your carriage…

…If you'll pardon me saying so.

Sir John has a dreadful attack of the gout,

He is fuming to beat all creation.

My lady, your mother, is up in the air.

She is having hysterics and tearing her hair,

And borders on nervous prostration.

Would you wish me to pack your portmanteau at once,

And look up the times of the trains, sir?

Or perhaps you would rather I brought you a drink,

And a pistol to blow out your brains, sir…

…If you'll pardon my saying so.

Another monologue next Monday

No.120

The Road Goes Ever On

J.R.R. Tolkien 1892-1973

The Road goes ever on and on

   Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

   And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

   Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet.

   And whither then? I cannot say.

-o0o-

No.119

Life has Loveliness to Sell

Sara Teasdale 1884-1933

Life has loveliness to sell,

     All beautiful and splendid things,

Blue waves whitened on a cliff,

     Soaring fire that sways and sings,

And children's faces looking up

Holding wonder like a cup.

Life has loveliness to sell,

     Music like a curve of gold,

Scent of pine trees in the rain,

     Eyes that love you, arms that hold,

And for your spirit's still delight,

Holy thoughts that star the night.

Spend all you have for loveliness,

     Buy it and never count the cost;

For one white singing hour of peace

     Count many a year of strife well lost,

And for a breath of ecstasy

Give all you have been, or could be.

-o0o-