Classic Poem

I

MRS. FISKE

Staccato, hurried, nervous, brisk,
Cascading, intermittent, choppy,
The brittle voice of Mrs. Fiske
Shall serve me now as copy.
Assist me, O my Muse, what time
I pen a bit of Deathless Rhyme!

Time was, when first that voice I heard,
Despite my close and tense endeavour,
When many an important word
Was lost and gone forever;
Though, unlike others at the play,
I never whispered: " Wha'd'd she say? "

Some words she runs together so;
Some others are distinctly stated;
Some come too fast and some too slow
And some are syncopated.
And yet no voice — I am sincere —
Exists that I prefer to hear.

For what is called " intelligence "
By every Mrs. Fiskeian critic
As usual is just a sense
Of humour, analytic.
So any time I'm glad to frisk
Two bones to witness Mrs. Fiske.