Black Beetles in Amber

So, Estee, you are still alive! I thought

That you had died and were a blessed ghost

I know at least your coffin once was bought

With Railroad money; and 'twas said by most

Historians that Stanford made a boast

The seller "threw you in." That goes for naught—

Man takes delight in fancy's fine inventions,

And woman too, 'tis said, if they are French ones.

Do you remember, Estee—ah, 'twas long

And long ago!—how fierce you grew and hot

When anything impeded the straight, strong,

Wild sweep of the great billow you had got

Atop of, like a swimmer bold? Great Scott!

How fine your wavemanship! How loud your song

Of "Down with railroads!" When the wave subsided

And left you stranded you were much divided.

Then for a time you were content to wade

The waters of the "robber barons'" moat.

To fetch, and carry was your humble trade,

And ferry Stanford over in a boat,

Well paid if he bestowed the kindly groat

And spoke you fair and called you pretty maid.

And when his stomach seemed a bit unsteady

You got your serviceable basin ready.

Strange man! how odd to see you, smug and spruce,

There at Chicago, burrowed in a Chair,

Not made to measure and a deal too loose,

And see you lift your little arm and swear

Democracy shall be no more! If it's a fair

And civil question, and not too abstruse,

Were you elected as a "robber baron,"

Or as a Communist whose teeth had hair on?