Classic Poem

BY WILLA SIBERT CATHER

I've got my walkin' papers,
An' I'm goin' to cut my wire,
An' I'll never drink another
Till I board the Denver flyer.
I ain't got time for kissin',
For I've got a lot to do, —
The fever took me sudden,
An' it took no 'count of you.
It took me mighty sudden
When I saw a garden wall
With a hedge o' bloomin' sunflowers,
An' I knew I'd got my call.
I heard a broncho whinny
Down in Central Park to-night,
And a stunnin' woman cut him
An' whirled him out o' sight.
He knew me for his brother,
Standin' lonesome in the throng,
And the fever took him sudden
An' he passed the word along.
I guess I know the feelin'.
When it gets a hold that way,
Lord! There ain't enough o' women
For to coax a man to stay.
So I've got my walkin papers,
An' I'm goin' to loose the reins,
An' I'll never drink another,
Till I strike the Kansas plains.
I'll never take a jack-pot
Till I sit and try my luck
Down at Teddy's joint in Denver
Where the fellows go to buck;
An' I hear the corks a-poppin',
An' the beer a-chucklin' low,
An' the billiard balls a clickin',
With the chaps I used to know,
The ranchers from Wyoming
An' the fellows from the mines,
A puttin' down the shekels
An' a puttin' up the wines —
Fellows takin' heavy chances
Stakin' fortunes on their claim,
An' ridin' down a hundred miles
To join me in a game.
Chaps who give the dare to fortune
From the tropics to the snow,
Got their boots in Dawson, maybe,
An' their hats in Mexico.
Oh! I've got my walkin' papers,
An' I hate your dirty town,
Where the men'll rob a fellow
And the women throw him down.
You're not the girl I'm meanin'
An' you've always done me square,
But you see a man gets restless,
An' he needs a change o' air.
You can get another sweetheart
As wears the proper clothes
An' always hunts the tailor
Where the other chappies goes,
An'll always do you credit
When he takes you to a ball.
An' is on to all your racket —
God! I'm tired of it all.
The sunflowers'll be noddin'
When I strike the cattle land,
An' the sage is gray and dusty
With the Colorado sand. —
Oh, I'll never drink another
Till I see the Rockies rise
Big as temples topped on temples
Tipped with snow ag'in the skies;
An' the spires are frozen starlight
When the day begins to pale —
O! I've got my walkin' papers,
An' I've got to hit the trail!