REUBEN ROYLittle fellow, brown with wind—I saw him in the streetPeering at numbers on the posts,But most discreet:For when a woman came outdoors,Or slyly peeped instead,He turned away, took off his hat,And scratched his head.I watched him from my garden-wallPerhaps an hour or more,For something in his attitude,The clothes he wore,Awoke the dimmest memoriesOf when I was a boyAnd knew the story of a manNamed Reuben Roy.It seems that Reuben went to seaThe night his wife decriedThe fence he built before their houseAnd up the side.He wanted it but she did not,Because it hid from viewThe spot in which her mignonetteAnd tulips grew.Nobody saw his face again,But each year, unawares,He sent a sum for taxes due—And fence repairs.My curiosity aroused,I sauntered forth to seeWhether this individualWere really he.“Who are you looking for?” I askedHis eyes, like two bright pence,Sparkled at mine; and then he said:“A fence.”“Somebody burned it Hallowe’en,When people were in bed;Before the judge could prosecute,The culprit fled.”Well, Reuben only touched his hatAnd mumbled, “Thank you, Sir,”And asked me whereabouts to findA carpenter.HAROLD CRAWFORD STEARNS
Little fellow, brown with wind—I saw him in the streetPeering at numbers on the posts,But most discreet:For when a woman came outdoors,Or slyly peeped instead,He turned away, took off his hat,And scratched his head.I watched him from my garden-wallPerhaps an hour or more,For something in his attitude,The clothes he wore,Awoke the dimmest memoriesOf when I was a boyAnd knew the story of a manNamed Reuben Roy.It seems that Reuben went to seaThe night his wife decriedThe fence he built before their houseAnd up the side.He wanted it but she did not,Because it hid from viewThe spot in which her mignonetteAnd tulips grew.Nobody saw his face again,But each year, unawares,He sent a sum for taxes due—And fence repairs.My curiosity aroused,I sauntered forth to seeWhether this individualWere really he.“Who are you looking for?” I askedHis eyes, like two bright pence,Sparkled at mine; and then he said:“A fence.”“Somebody burned it Hallowe’en,When people were in bed;Before the judge could prosecute,The culprit fled.”Well, Reuben only touched his hatAnd mumbled, “Thank you, Sir,”And asked me whereabouts to findA carpenter.
HAROLD CRAWFORD STEARNS