THERE'S nothing that I think of more Than oyster-supper nights of yore, Them evenings when the church or grange Was out for coin and chink and change, To capture which for weeks ahead They spread the bills that billed the spread, Inviting every soul in town To lay a half a dollar down. They always picked a moonful night So Luna might contribute light; They planned it so that drummer Low Would be in town and have to go; They even set it so Jerome, The logging boss, would be at home; They used cold blood and cool finesse To make them nights a hot success. These 'foresaid points are very clear Whilst others fade from year to year; For instance, did the oysters "come," And if so, was I served to some, Or did I get with bowl and spoon Some water that was warmed too soon? And did I hear my seatmate say Her oyster must have got away? No matter—they was sure a treat, Them oysters that we s'posed we'd eat; The broth we s'posed would pass our lips A rosy recollection sips; And how our thumbs enjoyed to crack A Boston cracker's brittle back! What though the feast was oyster shy The other things was heaping high: For cabbage salad, splashed with egg, Was always made by Mother Gregg, And Aunty Allard loved to bake A Pyramid-of-Ghaza cake, And frost it down from tip to toe With frosting fresh as sugar snow, And buttered biscuit, yes; it's true, Was always sent by Sister Drew. And there was pickles, jams and jells As fine as Mr. Biltmore sells, And rolltop cake and mincemeat pie, And tarts that most put out your eye, And doughnuts that was raised all night, A-fried in leaf lard painted white— Two great long tables, set with care, And not a criscoed victual there. The tables stacked, Odella Pope Would always start a game of rope; She'd jump right in and say, "I'm It," And play until the last one quit, And when she slapped you on the wrist Her mother's daughter soon got kissed— Ah! yes; what charming hours they bore, Them oyster-suppered nights of yore! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CRUCIFIXION TO THE WORLD BY THE CROSS OF CHRIST by ISAAC WATTS THE CANDLE by GHALIB IBN RIBAH AL-HAJJAM ON A VOLUME OF ANONYNOUS POEMS ENTITLED A MASQUE OF POETS by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH IN A SPRING GROVE by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM ONE THAT'S ON THE SEA by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE: 5 by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING AT HER CASEMENT by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |