Classic Poem

Lady dear, the living flame
Is ashes on my brow;
My days are done, ere half begun —
I'm not a poet now!

I never ask a pretty girl
To roam beneath the moon,
I never beg the deaf, deaf stars
To sprinkle down a boon;
I never write a sonnet, and
I scorn to make a bow —
No use of so much fuss, I swear —
I'm not a poet now!

I never babble of the sea,
I much prefer a pool,
I never try to steal a kiss —
I am not such a fool!
I never read Anacreon Moore,
Too trashy far, I vow;
Lord Byron is a dreadful bore —
I'm not a poet now!

I never flirt in coquette's eyes,
With handkerchief or fan,
I never squander dimes upon
The hurdy-gurdy man;
I'm curious in statistics of
The anvil and the plow —
They know me at the calaboose —
I'm not a poet now!

I never wander, like a loon,
Amid the " shades of night " —
I hate your " charming solitudes, "
They give me such a fright;
I like a squalling baby and
Am partial to a row,
Besides, I am getting very fat —
I'm not a poet now!

When Mary sings Italian airs
I lose my self-command,
And wish her " Casta Diva " off
To good old Dixie Land!
When Sophie simpers for the dance,
I swear I know not how —
Too big to play such monkey-pranks —
I'm not a poet now!

I'm working on the principle
That two and two make four —
Believe the soul of music's in
The dray-wheels at the door;
Would rather have a shilling piece
Than Homer's laurel bough —
I'm in the pork and bacon line —
I'm not a poet now!

In callow youth I churned my mind
For happiness and fame,
While sleep evoked the misty worlds
Melodious with my name;
But nevermore the dusty days
Those fantasies allow:
The cobwebs of the brain are gone —
I'm not a poet now!

Lady dear, the living flame
Is ashes on my brow;
My days are done, ere half begun —
I'm not a poet now!