Prelude
They say that rhyme and rhythm are
Outmoded now.
I do not know, for I am far
From high of brow.
But if the twain you take away,
Since basely bred,
Proud Poetry, I dare to say,
Would scarce be read.
With humble heart I thus define
My rôle in rhyme:
Oh may I never write a line
That does not chime.
And though a verse be nigh as sweet
As honey-comb,
To please me, let it have the beat
Of metronome.
So to my modest muse I give
A grateful pen;
Of lowliness I sing, who live
With lowly men.
And though I never cease to grieve
Poetic lack,
I do my best,--please take or leave
A Verseman's Pack.