Classic Poem

Four and twenty tea-bells
Tinkling little chimes;
Just as many poets
Tinkling little rhymes.

When great bells are silent,
Little ones may ring;
When great poets are voiceless,
Little ones may sing.

Little bells and — brothers
(Do not take it ill),
All vibration ceases
Once your tongues are still.

There are tones and voices
That can never die;
I can only think of
Tennyson and " I! "

Still there may be others
Of the rhyming gentry,
Who each month slip past some
Editorial sentry;

Bound to live, — " 16mo, " —
So let us agree:
I 'll read all your verses —
If you sing of me.