Classic Poem

Oft in the not too stilly night,
As on my wakeful couch I toss,
I think about what I shall write,
And who had shot the albatross.

I think about the Dawes report;
My mind lets go a thousand things:
I see a reeling tennis court;
I see a prancing pair of kings.

I listen to the doleful chime
That tells me it is 3 o'clock.
I fret about the wave of crime;
I mourn about my sinking stock.

Remote from gay mine errant mind;
Replete my lonely heart with ache.
I grow less fond of humankind,
And sob, " Why must I lie awake? "

But looms a hope across my view:
No more shall I the world beweep,
Like Mr. Chauncey M. Depew,
To-night I'll laugh myself to sleep.