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HANDOUT NOTES
SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: SELECT ONE POEM
32. Andy the Night-Watch
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IN my Spanish cloak, |
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And old slouch hat, |
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And overshoes of felt, |
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And Tyke, my faithful dog, |
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And my knotted hickory cane, |
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I slipped about with a bull’s-eye lantern |
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From door to door on the square, |
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As the midnight stars wheeled round, |
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And the bell in the steeple murmured |
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From the blowing of the wind; |
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And the weary steps of old Doc Hill |
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Sounded like one who walks in sleep, |
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And a far-off rooster crew. |
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And now another is watching Spoon River |
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As others watched before me. |
15 |
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And here we lie, Doc Hill and I |
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Where none breaks through and steals,
And no eye needs to guard |
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63. Herbert Marshall
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ALL your sorrow, Louise, and hatred of me |
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Sprang from your delusion that it was wantonness |
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Of spirit and contempt of your soul’s rights |
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Which made me turn to Annabelle and forsake you. |
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You really grew to hate me for love of me, |
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Because I was your soul’s happiness, |
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Formed and tempered |
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To solve your life for you, and would not. |
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But you were my misery. If you had been |
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My happiness would I not have clung to you? |
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This is life’s sorrow: |
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That one can be happy only where two are; |
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And that our hearts are drawn to stars |
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Which want us not. |
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131. Ralph Rhodes
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ALL they said was true: |
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I wrecked my father’s bank with my loans |
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To dabble in wheat; but this was true— |
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I was buying wheat for him as well, |
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Who couldn’t margin the deal in his name |
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Because of his church relationship. |
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And while George Reece was serving his term |
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I chased the will-o’-the-wisp of women, |
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And the mockery of wine in New York. |
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It’s deathly to sicken of wine and women |
10 |
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When nothing else is left in life. |
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But suppose your head is gray, and bowed |
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On a table covered with acrid stubs |
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Of cigarettes and empty glasses, |
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And a knock is heard, and you know it’s the knock |
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So long drowned out by popping corks |
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And the pea-cock screams of demireps— |
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And you look up, and there’s your Theft, |
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Who waited until your head was gray, |
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And your heart skipped beats to say to you: |
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The game is ended. I’ve called for you, |
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Go out on Broadway and be run over, |
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They’ll ship you back to Spoon River. |
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181. Tom Merritt
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AT first I suspected something— |
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She acted so calm and absent-minded. |
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And one day I heard the back door shut, |
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As I entered the front, and I saw him slink |
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Back of the smokehouse into the lot, |
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And run across the field. |
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And I meant to kill him on sight. |
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But that day, walking near Fourth Bridge, |
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Without a stick or a stone at hand, |
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All of a sudden I saw him standing, |
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Scared to death, holding his rabbits, |
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And all I could say was, “Don’t, Don’t, Don’t,” |
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As he aimed and fired at my heart. |
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38. Charlie French
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DID you ever find out |
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Which one of the O’Brien boys it was |
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Who snapped the toy pistol against my hand? |
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