{"id":3933,"date":"2018-07-13T16:48:01","date_gmt":"2018-07-13T20:48:01","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/HatchetOnline\/?p=3933"},"modified":"2024-08-20T08:41:55","modified_gmt":"2024-08-20T12:41:55","slug":"the-love-song-of-hyman-lubinsky","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/the-love-song-of-hyman-lubinsky\/","title":{"rendered":"The Love Song of Hyman Lubinsky"},"content":{"rendered":"

First published in May\/June, 2007, Volume 4, Issue 2, The Hatchet: Journal of Lizzie Borden Studies<\/em>.<\/span><\/p>\n


\nOh, Bridget, be my bride, come be my Bridey!<\/span><\/p>\n

In an ivy covered shanty nice and tidy,<\/span><\/p>\n

Both my heart and arms would open widey\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

For my Bridey.<\/span><\/p>\n

And when you had a half day, you could sit down on my side.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have a team\u2014no cart\u2014my seat is wide<\/span><\/p>\n

Enough for two, though of course it wouldn\u2019t do<\/span><\/p>\n

Until my ring was on your finger, and, oh boy, my hand would linger<\/span><\/p>\n

Over yours the day I put it there, my Bridey.<\/span><\/p>\n

Aw, I\u2019m green, I know, but I\u2019d grow ripe<\/span><\/p>\n

In no time, keep you safe, and smoke a pipe\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

No plug tobacco spitting would you see.<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019ve heard the vendors halloaing down the street?<\/span><\/p>\n

Aw, you\u2019d never hear such kind of noise from me.<\/span><\/p>\n

Instead, we\u2019d look for ice cream hungry faces<\/span><\/p>\n

At the windows, pull up on the traces,<\/span><\/p>\n

And wait the way a decent peddler do\u2014<\/span><\/p>\n

All, dear, because of you. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

And when noonday spreads through the sky<\/span><\/p>\n

Like ice that melts just as the sun gets high,<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019d take you down my streets\u2014first June and Rock.<\/span><\/p>\n

You\u2019d hand the scoop down when I tipped the crock.<\/span><\/p>\n

And then down Prospect, Linden, High, and Grove.<\/span><\/p>\n

We could picnic with the swells down at the Cove.<\/span><\/p>\n

But I wouldn\u2019t for a penny take no notice of the many\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

If I could have my posy by my side,<\/span><\/p>\n

My blushing bride.<\/span><\/p>\n

But in the rooms detectives come and go,<\/span><\/p>\n

Muttering, \u201cOne up besides the one below.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I go slow, I go slow.<\/span><\/p>\n

I will never get any of my ice cream sold.<\/span><\/p>\n

Now, I am no star witness, no, and never meant to be.<\/span><\/p>\n

I only come to tell what I could do<\/span><\/p>\n

To make out that the lady told it true.<\/span><\/p>\n

I waited outside in the vestibule,<\/span><\/p>\n

Then testified and got made out a fool.<\/span><\/p>\n

Life is so cruel!<\/span><\/p>\n

I turn red, I turn red.<\/span><\/p>\n

The fellers all be calling me the Turnip Head.<\/span><\/p>\n

But, gee, if\u00a0 <\/span>I\u2019da\u00a0 <\/span>dared to, I\u2019da said<\/span><\/p>\n

The whole truth that was buzzing through my head.<\/span><\/p>\n

How one day about eleven, I caught a glimpse of heaven,<\/span><\/p>\n

And I swore I must see more of her or die.<\/span><\/p>\n

I sold the cream to her and she gave to me a smile,<\/span><\/p>\n

Paid,\u00a0 <\/span>tossed in two more bits and laughed,<\/span><\/p>\n

Said \u201cDon\u2019t worry, not my money,\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

And besides, you are a honey.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Her black eyes flashed and then she dashed back to the house.<\/span><\/p>\n

And left me feeling manly as a mouse.<\/span><\/p>\n

But I have trotted slow there ever since at the same time,<\/span><\/p>\n

To offer cream that wouldn\u2019t cost a dime<\/span><\/p>\n

Until the day some villain done the crime.<\/span><\/p>\n

And they think it would be hard for me to recognize that yard?<\/span><\/p>\n

That yard I\u2019ve passed just for the chance to find<\/span><\/p>\n

Wet sheets kissing her cheeks as she hangs them to the line?<\/span><\/p>\n

Or (dare I say?)\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Have her ask a ride from me on her half\u00a0 <\/span>holiday.<\/span><\/p>\n

And then I might have popped the question<\/span><\/p>\n

At a busy intersection.<\/span><\/p>\n

But I do not think she\u2019ll hear it now from me.\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

But because I did not dare to say,\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cI think you are a peach,\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

I\u2019ll never wear a boater and walk her down the beach.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have measured out my life in ice cream scoops<\/span><\/p>\n

Served up for those who wait on their back stoops.<\/span><\/p>\n

I have seen the shop boy hold the door and smirk<\/span><\/p>\n

To see me go so late about my work.<\/span><\/p>\n

I could not say in court what I don\u2019t dare\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

To say to her except in dreams that float\u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Out on the deep, on some swell riverboat,<\/span><\/p>\n

Far from the gavel and the fear<\/span><\/p>\n

That keep my song from reaching her sweet ear. \u00a0<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Lizzie Borden case related poem by Mary Elizabeth Naugle.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":30,"featured_media":4927,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[28],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3933","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3933","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/30"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3933"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3933\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":5723,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3933\/revisions\/5723"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/4927"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3933"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3933"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/lizzieandrewborden.com\/hatchetonline\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3933"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}