(Cut this out in either case.)
Poet, ere you write me,
Stem the flowing ink;
Or that you indite me
Pause upon the brink.
Strummer of the lyre
Maker of the tune,
Give me a desire--
Bless me with a boon.
Let me be a rondeau
With a sweet refrain,
Or an aliquando
Sonnet to the rain;
Let me be a lyric
Tenuous as air,
Or an a la Viereck
Passion song to hair;
Ballad, epic, quatrain,
Couplet--ay, a line--
"Let it rain or not rain,
Let it storm or shine."
Shape me as you list to,
Glorious or small;
Put a comic twist to
Anything at all.
Only give me fame that
Never, never dies,
Christen me a name that
Reaches to the skies.
This is my ambition:
Not the greatest rhyme,
Not the first position
On the page of time--
But, O poet, steep me,
Till, with gum and hooks,
Womenfolk will keep me
In their pocket-books!
