Classic Poem

And I to answer this tart questionnaire
In a fashion becoming a courteous bugbear.
" No sir" I gravely answer " that's not it.
" If I were selling soap, or selling wit,
" I would not talk of business , I'd be shy
" Regarding L.S.D. — As it is energy
" I peddle I am not ashamed to refer
" To the interference I encounter, sir!
" A hundred thousand demijohns I'd hide:
" But not the pale tresses of the solar bride."
It's very difficult indeed, of course,
To show that this is not a personal force.
I do not beg subscriptions for the sun —
I come to levy imposts! One by one
I get into a row with angry persons
Who cast upon my functions tart aspersions.
Masks made of bast are useful, a ripsnorter
Bursts on our faces, full of angry water
And forked electricity. What is the use
The indignant elements when they recuse
To menace with sunstroke? I've had quite enough
Of heated argument about my stuff.
The long and the short of this is I am not
A doll of set responses in a fixed cot.
I go about and use my eyes, my tongue
Is not for sale — a little loosely slung
Perhaps but nothing more. I esteem my r├┤le
To be grand enough to excuse me, on my soul,
From telling lies at all hours of the day!
Of saying the thing that is not, Swift would say.
If I am armed with bright invective, rare
That is I agree — but mine is a dangerous affair.