BALLADE OF DAMNABLE THINGS

I do not like a horse to throw me off. I do not like the motor-bike to skid. I do not like a nasty hacking cough, Nor influenza. And I never did Enjoy the thought of frizzling on a grid, The while wee flaming devils dance and sing. But short of simple Hell without the lid, I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. Fleas, faintness, famine, stomach-ache, the feel Of flies upon your face, rats in your bed; Lice, dusty roads, a blister on your heel, The taste of salts, the scent of things long dead, Home-sickness, chilblains, grief uncomforted, A hollow tooth with cold, a hornet sting:— These are unpleasant, yet when all is said I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. See you the whole bright world before your eye Dwindle as ugly as a wrinkled pea. See Beauty, a pricked bubble: Truth, a lie: Achievement, foam on muddy water. See Yourself a yellow devil suddenly, And all the zest of youth gone journeying— See you all this, and then you will agree (I think) that jaundice is the damn’dest thing. Envoi. Prince of the damned—I ransack my supplies To find a fitting wish at you to fling. Now may you look on Hell through yellow eyes. I think that jaundice is the damn’dest thing.