When our yacht sails seaward on steady keel <br />And the wind is moist with breath of brine <br />And our laughter tells of our perfect weal, <br />We may carol the praises of ruby wine; <br />But if, automobiling, my woes combine <br />And fuel gives out in my road-machine <br />And it's sixteen miles to that home of mine-- <br />Then ho! For a gallon of gasoline! <br /> <br />When our coach rides smoothly on iron-shod wheel <br />With a deft touch guiding each taut drawn line <br />And the inn ahead holds a royal meal, <br />We may carol the praises of ruby wine; <br />But when, on some long and steep incline, <br />In a manner entirely unforeseen <br />The motor stops with a last sad whine-- <br />Then ho! For a gallon of gasoline! <br /> <br />When the air is crisp and the brooks congeal <br />And our sleigh glides on with a speed divine <br />While the gay bells echo with peal on peal, <br />We may carol the praises of ruby wine; <br />But when, with perverseness most condign, <br />In the same harsh snowstorm, cold and keen, <br />My auto stops at the six-mile sign-- <br />Then ho! For a gallon of gasoline! <br /> <br />ENVOY <br /> <br />When yacht or Coach Club fellows dine <br />We may carol the praises of ruby wine; <br />But when Automobile Clubmen convene <br />Then ho! For a gallon of gasoline! <br /> <br /> <br />Submitted by John Martin<br /><br />Ellis Parker Butler<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ballade-of-the-automobile/
