Classic Poem

I MET a friend of lofty brow —
As lofty as the laws allow.
I said to him, " You'll know, I'm sure —
What's doing now in litrychoor? "
Said he: " I hate the very name;
I'm weary of the blooming game.
I read, whenever I have time,
Something by Phillips Oppenheim. "

" Cheer up! " said I. " What's new in Art? —
You drift around the picture mart.
What do you think of Mr. Blum? —
Some say he's great, some say he's bum. "
" I'm strong for Blum, " my friend replied;
" His pictures are so queer and pied.
I wouldn't change them if I could;
I'd rather have things queer than good. "

I spoke of this, I spoke of that,
But everything was stale and flat.
Said I, " You once adored the chaste,
You used to have such perfect taste. "
" Good taste, " he wailed, " brings but distress,
'Tis an affliction, nothing less;
While those whose taste is punk and vile
Are happy all the blessed while. "

" Oh, take a brace, old man! " said I.
" Let me prescribe a nip of rye,
And then we'll go to see a play;
I've two for Barrymore to-day. "
" No, no, " he groaned; " 'twould be a bore,
With all respect to Barrymore. "
Said I: " Then whither shall we go? "
Said he: " A moving picture show. "