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Farewell To Verse

 In youth when oft my muse was dumb,
 My fancy nighly dead,
To make my inspiration come
 I stood upon my head;
And thus I let the blood down flow
 Into my cerebellum,
And published every Spring or so
 Slim tomes in vellum.
Alas! I am rheumatic now, Grey is my crown; I can no more with brooding brow Stand upside-down.
I fear I might in such a pose Burst brain blood-vessel; And that would be a woeful close To my rhyme wrestle.
If to write verse I must reverse I fear I'm stymied; In ink of prose I must immerse A pen de-rhymèd.
No more to spank the lyric lyre Like Keats or Browning, May I inspire the Sacred Fire My Upside-downing.

by Robert William Service
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