Classic Poem

A lad whose life is pure and clean —
His stuff is cosmic, sempiternal;
Whether in Harper's Magazine
Or in the so-called Evening Journal .

He needs no 24-point blurb,
His verse requires no Gothic ro-point,
For folks to say, " Believe me, Herb,
Some ooze comes off of that guy's pen point! "

I wrote some poetry at home —
I lived, you know, at Sabine Junction —
A wolf came up and glimpsed my pome,
And slammed the door with vulpine unction.

A big, big, big, big wolf was he:
(And if you crave corroboration,
Look up Ode 22 and see
The difficulties of translation.)

Lived I where Kipling pens his rhymes,
Or where Le Gallienne pens his stanzas;
And worked I for the London Times ,
Or for a sheet in Howell, Kansas —

Oh, ship me to some desert isle
Or leave me in my Conning Tower,
Still shall I sing my Carrie's smile
And love its cardiac motive power.