| Not the dog with yellow fur,
And with yellow sounding yelp; Not the quadripedal cur, Not the flea infested whelp. But the yellow biped wretch, Who invents the yellow trash, Which the yellow papers stretch, Into yellow balderdash. He's the yellow dog I mean, And his vitriolic pen Bites with hydrophobic spleen, In the crowded haunts of men. How he chuckles, how he gloats, Over crime and dark despair; How his very pencil notes Horrify the pitying air ! And his dream of paradise Is a place where, thick and fast, Horrors and sensations rise, Each more awful than the last. So, to Heavenize the earth With a Hell of dread dismay; And to compensate the dearth Of the direful day by day; Seizes he some trivial act, Born at some unguarded time, Builds upon this molehill fact Mountains of suspected crime. None is safe with him around, For the most untarnished name And the purest virtue found He is keenest to defame. He has lost all sense of truth, Falsehood is his very breath,- Calumny his meat, forsooth What to him is life or death ? But the incensed public cries: "Outrage, thou hast done thy worst! Justice, veil no more thine eyes! Vengence, let thy fury burst!" And the yellow dog turns pale, For in dread alarm he hears Of a dog who lost his tail Just behind his yellow ears. __Harry Edward Mills. |
Select Sunflowers
Harry Edward Mills
(Fort Scott: Sunflower Press. 1901)
Page 38-40
Visit the Home Page for Kansas