• En Garde, Messieurs

    En garde, Messieurs, too long have I endured,
    Too long with patience borne the world’s rebuff;
    Now he who shoulders me shall find me rough;
    The weakness of an easy soul is cured.

    I ’ve shouted, leathern-lunged, when fame or gold
    Were won by others, turned to aid my friend;—
    Dull-pated ever,—but such follies end;
    Only a fool’s content,...

    William Lindsey

  • The Hundred-Yard Dash

    Give me a race that is run in a breath,
      Straight from the start to the “tape;”
    Distance hath charms, but a “Ding Dong” means death,
      Death without flowers and crape.

    “On your mark,” “Set,”—for a moment we strain,
      Held by a leash all unseen;
    “P’ff,” we are off, from the pistol we gain
      Yards, if the starter’s not keen.

    ...

    William Lindsey