Classic Poem

The Poet knew the Rules of Song,
And never got a measure wrong.
The Ploughman knew no laws of rhyme,
Yet was he singing all the time.
The Ploughman voiced his simple heart.
The Poet practised well his Art.

The twain Parnassus climbed one day
And met the Muses, so they say,
And when the wreaths were given out
The Poet got none, but the lout
Who sped the plough, by Helicon,
They put a pea-green laurel on!