Title: The Rubaiyat of Ohow Dryyam - With Apologies to Omar
Author: Duff, J. L.
Language: English
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[Illustration: The Rubàiyàt of Ohow Dryyàm]

    Illustrated by Benj. Franklin
    [not of Philadelphia]

    _Copyrighted_ 1922
    _by_ LEEDON PUBLISHING COMPANY

    LEEDON PUBLISHING COMPANY
    405 FLOOD BUILDING
    SAN FRANCISCO



    THE
    RUBAIYAT
    OF
    OHOW DRYYAM

    By J. L. DUFF

    _With Apologies to_

    OMAR

    [Illustration]

    _Illustrated by_

    BENJAMIN FRANKLIN
    [_Not of Philadelphia_]



_The Rubaiyat of Ohow Dryyam_


I

    Wail! for the Law has scattered into flight
    Those Drinks that were our sometime dear Delight;
      And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan
    New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite.


II

    After the phantom of our Freedom died
    Methought a Voice within the Tavern cried:
      "Drink coffee, Lads, for that is all that's left
    Since our Land of the Free is washed--and dried."


[Illustration:

    _And still the Morals-tinkers plot and plan
    New, sterner, stricter Statutes to indite._]


III

    The Haigs indeed are gone, and on the Nose
    That bourgeoned once with color of the rose
      A deathly Pallor sits, while down the lane
    Where once strode Johnny Walker--Water goes.


IV

    Come, fill the Cup, and in the Coffee-house
    We'll learn a new and temperate Carouse--
      The Bird of Time flies with a steadier wing
    But roosts with sleepless Eye--a Coffee Souse!


V

    Each morn a thousand Recipes, you say--
    Yes, but where match the beer of Yesterday?
      And those Spring Months that used to bring the Bock
    Seem very long ago and far away.


[Illustration:

    _The Bird of Time flies with a steadier wing
    But roosts with sleepless Eye--a Coffee Souse!_]


VI

    A Book of Blue Laws underneath the Bough,
    A pot of Tea, a piece of Toast,--and Thou
      Beside me sighing in the Wilderness--
    Wilderness? It's Desert, Sister, now.


VII

    Some for a Sunday without Taint, and Some
    Sigh for Inebriate Paradise to come,
      While Moonshine takes the Cash (no Credit goes)
    And real old Stuff demands a Premium.


[Illustration:

    _A Book of Blue Laws underneath the Bough,
    A pot of Tea, a piece of Toast,--and Thou ..._]


VIII

    The Scanty Stock we set our hearts upon
    Still dwindles and declines until anon,
      Like Snow upon the Desert's dusty Face,
    It lights us for an hour and then--is gone.


IX

    Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears
    TODAY of past Regrets and future Fears--
      Tomorrow!--Why, Tomorrow I may be
    In Canada or Scotland or Algiers!


X

    Yes, make the most of what we still may spend;
    The last Drop's lingering Taste may yet transcend
      Anticipation's Bliss--though we are left
    Sans Wine, Sans Song, Sans Singer, and--Sans End.


[Illustration:

    _The Scanty Stock we set our hearts upon ..._]


XI

    Alike for those who for the Drouth prepared
    And those who, like myself, more poorly fared,
      Fond Memory weaves Roseate Shrouds to dress
    Departed Spirits we have loved--and shared.


XII

    Myself when young did eagerly frequent
    The gilded Bar, and all my Lucre spent
      For bottled Joyousness, but evermore
    Came out less steadily than in I went.


XIII

    The legal Finger writes; and having writ,
    Moves on--and neither Thirst nor Wit
      Has lured it back to cancel half a line
    To give a Man excuse for being lit.


[Illustration:

    _Myself when young did eagerly frequent
    The gilded Bar ..._]


XIV

    And Bill the Bootlegger--the Infidel!--
    When He takes my last Cent for just a Smell
      Of Hooch, I wonder what Bootleggers buy
    One half so precious as the Stuff they sell.


XV

    Oh Bill, Who dost with White Mule and with Gin
    Beset the Road I am to Wander in,
      If I am garnered of the Law, wilt Thou,
    All piously, Impute my Fall to Sin?


[Illustration:

    _And Bill the Bootlegger--the Infidel!--_]


XVI

    Yon rising Moon that looks for us again--
    How oft hereafter will she wax and wane;
      But, Oh, how oft before we have beheld
    _Six_ Moons arise--who now seek _Two_ in vain.


XVII

    And when Thyself at last shall come to trip
    Down that dim Dock where Charon loads his Ship,
      I'll meet Thee on the other Wharf if Thou
    Wilt promise to have Something on thy Hip.


[Illustration:

    _But, Oh, how oft before we have beheld
    Six Moons arise ..._]





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