Rubáiyát of Doc Sifers. Riley James Whitcomb

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      We found him in that far-away that yet to us seems near —

      We vagrants of but yesterday when idlest youth was here, —

      When lightest song and laziest mirth possessed us through and through,

      And all the dreamy summer-earth seemed drugged with morning dew:

      When our ambition scarce had shot a stalk or blade indeed:

      Yours, – choked as in the garden-spot you still deferred to "weed":

      Mine, – but a pipe half-cleared of pith – as now it flats and whines

      In sympathetic cadence with a hiccough in the lines.

      Aye, even then – o timely hour! – the high gods did confer

      In our behalf: – and, clothed in power, lo, came their courier —

      Not winged with flame nor shod with wind, – but ambling down the pike,

      Horseback, with saddlebags behind, and guise all human-like.

      And it was given us to see, beneath his rustic rind,

      A native force and mastery of such inspiring kind,

      That half unconsciously we made obeisance. – smiling, thus

      His soul shone from his eyes and laid its glory over us.

      · · · · · ·

      Though, faring still that far-away that yet to us seems near,

      His form, through mists of yesterday, fades from the vision here,

      Forever as he rides, it is in retinue divine, —

      The hearts of all his time are his, with your hale heart and mine.

      Ef you don't know Doc Sifers I'll jes argy, here and now,

      You've bin a mighty little while about here, anyhow!

      'Cause Doc he's rid these roads and woods – er swum 'em, now and then —

      And practised in this neighberhood sence hain't no tellin' when!

      In radius o' fifteen mile'd, all p'ints o' compass round,

      No man er woman, chick er child, er team, on top o' ground,

      But knows him– yes, and got respects and likin' fer him, too,

      Fer all his so-to-speak dee-fects o' genius showin' through!

      Some claims he's absent-minded; some has said they wuz afeard

      To take his powders when he come and dosed 'em out, and 'peared

      To have his mind on somepin' else – like County Ditch, er some

      New way o' tannin' mussrat-pelts, er makin' butter come.

      He's cur'ous – they hain't no mistake about it! – but he's got

      Enough o' extry brains to make a jury– like as not.

      They's no describin' Sifers, – fer, when all is said and done,

      He's jes hisse'f Doc Sifers– ner they hain't no other one!

      Doc's allus sociable, polite, and 'greeable, you'll find —

      Pervidin' ef you strike him right and nothin' on his mind, —

      Like in some hurry, when they've sent fer Sifers quick, you see,

      To 'tend some sawmill-accident, er picnic jamboree;

      Er when the lightnin' 's struck some hare-brained harvest-hand; er in

      Some 'tempt o' suicidin' – where they'd ort to try ag'in!

      I've knowed Doc haul up from a trot and talk a' hour er two

      When railly he'd a-ort o' not a-stopped fer "Howdy-do!"

      And then, I've met him 'long the road, a-lopin', – starin' straight

      Ahead, – and yit he never knowed me when I hollered "Yate,

      Old Saddlebags!" all hearty-like, er "Who you goin' to kill?"

      And he'd say nothin' – only hike on faster, starin' still!

      I'd bin insulted, many a time, ef I jes wuzn't shore

      Doc didn't mean a thing. And I'm not tetchy any more

      Sence that-air day, ef he'd a-jes a-stopped to jaw with me,

      They'd bin a little dorter less in my own fambily!

      Times now, at home, when Sifers' name comes up, I jes let on,

      You know, 'at I think Doc's to blame, the way he's bin and gone

      And disapp'inted folks – 'Ll-jee-mun-nee! you'd ort to then

      Jes hear my wife light into me – "ongratefulest o' men!"

      'Mongst all the women – mild er rough, splendifferous er plain,

      Er them with sense, er not enough to come in out the rain, —

      Jes ever' shape and build and style o' women, fat er slim —

      They all like Doc, and got a smile and pleasant word fer him!

      Ner hain't no horse I've ever saw but what'll neigh and try

      To sidle up to him, and paw, and sense him, ear-and-eye:

      Then jes a tetch o' Doc's old pa'm, to pat 'em, er to shove

      Along their nose – and they're as ca'm as any cooin' dove!

      And same with dogs, – take any breed, er strain, er pedigree,

      Er racial caste 'at can't concede no use fer you er me, —

      They'll putt all predju-dice aside in Doc's case and go in

      Kahoots with him, as satisfied as he wuz kith-and-kin!

      And Doc's a wonder, trainin' pets! – He's got a chicken-hawk,

      In kind o' half-cage, where he sets out in the gyarden-walk,

      And got that wild bird trained so tame, he'll loose him, and he'll fly

      Clean to the woods! – Doc calls his name – and he'll come, by-and-by!

      Some says no money down ud buy that bird o' Doc. – Ner no

      Inducement to the bird, says I, 'at he'd let Sifers go!

      And Doc he say 'at he's content – long as a bird o' prey

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