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Poem	I was a Poet! But I did not know it, Neither did my Mother, Nor my Sister nor my Brother. The Rich were not aware of it; The Poor took no care of it. The Reverend Mr. Drewitt Never knew it. The High did not suspect it; The Low could not detect it. Aunt Sue Said it was obviously untrue. Uncle Ned Said I was off my head: (This from a Colonial Was really a good testimonial.) Still everybody seemed to think That genius owes a good deal to drink. So that is how I am not a poet now, And why My inspiration has run dry. It is no sort of use To cultivate the Muse If vulgar people Can't tell a village pump from a church steeple. I am merely apologizing For the lack of the surprising In what I write To-night. I am quite well-meaning, But a lot of things are always intervening Between What I mean And what it is said I had in my head. It is all very puzzling. Uncle Ned Says Poets need muzzling. He might Be right. Good-night!
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