Black Beetles in Amber

      He died, they say,
      On the same day
His wealthy neighbor passed away.
      What matters it
      When beggars quit
Their beats? I answer: Not a bit.
      They got a spade
      And pick and made
A hole, and there the chap was laid.
      'He asked for bread,'
      'Twas neatly said:
'He'll get not even a stone instead.'
      The years rolled round:
      His humble mound
Sank to the level of the ground;
      And men forgot
      That the bare spot
Was like (and was) the beggar's lot.
      Forgotten, too,
      Was t'other, who
Had reared the monument to woo
      Inconstant Fame,
      Though still his name
Shouted in granite just the same.
      That name, I swear,
      They both did bear
The beggar and the millionaire.
      That lofty tomb,
      Then, honored—whom?
For argument here's ample room.
      I'll not debate,
      But only state
The scamp first claimed it at the Gate.
      St. Peter, proud
      To serve him, bowed
And showed him to the softest cloud.

DISAPPOINTMENT

The Senate woke; the Chairman's snore
     Was stilled, its echoes balking;
The startled members dreamed no more,
For Steele, who long had held the floor,
     Had suddenly ceased talking.
As, like Elijah, in his pride,
     He to his seat was passing,
'Go up thou baldhead!' Reddy cried.
Then six fierce bears ensued and tried
     To sunder him for 'sassing.'
Two seized his legs, and one his head,
     The fourth his trunk, to munch on;
The fifth preferred an arm instead;
The last, with rueful visage, said:
     'Pray what have I for luncheon?'
Then to that disappointed bear
     Said Steele, serene and chipper,
'My friend, you shall not lack your share:
Look in the Treasury, and there
     You'll find his other flipper.'

THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW OF THEFT

In fair Yosemite, that den of thieves
  Wherein the minions of the moon divide
The travelers' purses, lo! the Devil grieves,
  His larger share as leader still denied.
El Capitan, foreseeing that his reign
  May be disputed too, beclouds his head.
The joyous Bridal Veil is torn in twain
  And the crepe steamer dangles there instead.
The Vernal Fall abates her pleasant speed
  And hesitates to take the final plunge,
For rumors reach her that another greed
  Awaits her in the Valley of the Sponge.
The Brothers envy the accord of mind
  And peace of purpose (by the good deplored
As honor among Commissioners) which bind
  That confraternity of crime, the Board.
The Half-Dome bows its riven face to weep,
  But not, as formerly, because bereft:
Prophetic dreams afflict him when asleep
  Of losing his remaining half by theft.
Ambitious knaves! has not the upper sod
  Enough of room for every crime that crawls
But you must loot the Palaces of God
  And daub your filthy names upon the walls?