The Crooner

No more the thunderous trumpets tell
To hold life light when life runs high:
A coon will croon to beat the Band
And those that hear and understand
Will only be too glad to die.
Men have forgotten how to whisper:
Men have forgotten how to shout:
They mumble into some machine
And through ten gadgets in between
An artificial yell comes out.
The hero's harp, the lover's lute
Were low or loud as feelings flow:
Science has given the modern crowd
Something unquestionably loud
And still unquestionably low.
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