Classic Poem

Upon the hot Egyptian sands,
Beneath the lurid, blistering skies,
With stolid face and fireless eyes
The Sphinx in sombre grandeur stands.
Within that doleful desert place,
By desolation's doom oppress'd,
No sweet emotion fills her breast —
No smile illumes the Sphinx's face.

They say that many years ago
A Roman pretor left his home,
Resolved to go from Rome to roam —
A Roman roamin' to and fro.
This pretor happened, so they say,
To meet a humorist, whose name
Was heralded on wings of fame
Through Boston leagues and leagues away.

They roamed together far and wide —
The pretor and the Boston wit —
Till finally one night they lit
In Egypt by the Sphinx's side.
" Now tell me, ere we go to bed
Within our tents, some funny tale;
With humorous anecdote regale
My jaded soul, " the pretor said.

The Sphinx was then as fair a bit
Of female flesh as you could find,
And, womanlike, she had a mind
For stories that partook of wit.
She, therefore, smiling bent her ear
To hear the Massachusetts joke
The famous Boston humorist spoke
Unto the pretor, listening near.

What was the joke we do not know —
The ancient hist'ries do not state,
Nor legendary lore relate,
Nor hieroglyphic tablets show;
But since that Boston wit beguiled
The Roman pretor with the joke
Which centuries ago was spoke,
The hapless Sphinx has never smiled.