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.

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