Drinking, I doze, and see the gods go by; They wave to me the hand of comradeship, For I am one with them, and at my lip The cup of wisdom bubbles ... up the sky A blur of moondust drifts to dull mine eye, But through the veil my romping visions slip To dance among the careless stars, outstrip The racing planets where they swoop and fly, And then . . . from somewhere east of Mars a keen Thin wind whines for a Dime; I drop one in A sad Salvation Army tambourine And hear a weary homily on Sin . . . “Sister,” I say, “you're right, and yet the Truth Sometimes sits near me in this tavern booth.” XIII--THE OLD BRASS RAILING To Charley Still Our minds are schooled to grief and dearth, Our lips, too, are aware, But our feet still seek a railing When a railing isn't there. I went into a druggist's shop To get some stamps and soap,-- My feet rose up in spite of me And pawed the air with hope. I know that neither East nor West, And neither North nor South, Shall rise a cloud of joy to shed Its dampness on my drouth,--. I know that neither here nor there, When winds blow to and fro, Shall any friendly odours find The nose they used to know,-- [Ill 0127] No stein shall greet my straining eyes, No matter how they blink, Mine ears shall never hear again The highball glasses clink,-- There is not anywhere a jug To cuddle with my wrist,-- But my habituated foot Remains an optimist! It lifts itself, it curls itself, It feels the empty air, It seeks a long brass railing, And the railing isn't there! I do not seek for sympathy For stomach nor for throat, I never liked my liver much-- 'T is such a sulky goat!-- I do not seek your pity for My writhen tongue and wried, I do not ask your tears because My lips are shrunk and dried,-- But, oh! my foot! My cheated foot! My foot that lives in hope! It is a piteous sight to see It lift itself and grope! I look at it, I talk to it, I lesson it and plead, But with a humble cheerfulness, That makes my heart to bleed, It lifts itself, it curls itself, It searches through the air, It seeks a long brass railing, And the railing isn't there! I carried it to church one day-- O foot so fond and frail! I had to drag it forth in haste: It grabbed the chancel rail. My heart is all resigned and calm, So, likewise, is my soul, But my habituated foot Is quite beyond control! An escalator on the Ell Began its upward trip, My foot reached up and clutched the rail And crushed it in its grip. It grabs the headboard of my bed With such determined clasp That I'm compelled to scald the thing To make it loose its grasp.