Classic Poem

You know of the poet or artist—you children of Sorrow and Sin—
Whose humour has made you chuckle, whose humour has made you grin,
Whose humour has made you laugh outright, in the height of your misery—
But, say, have you ever wondered what manner of man is he?

You picture him large and hearty, you picture him free from care,
With plenty of friends and money and worshippers everywhere.
You never think of him, never, as one of the rank and file—
But he's often a man with a broken heart who is seldom seen to smile.

You know of the cynical writer, whose pen is a poisoned dart,
Who goes for his friends and his foes alike till you'd think he'd never a heart.
He's always sneering at sentiment and he “mocks at constancy”—
But, say, have you ever wondered what manner of man is he?

You picture him old and withered, you picture him mean as Get-Out—
A curse to his wife and family—and a curse to himself, no doubt.
But often he's hearty and generous, in spoken word and in deed—
A good kind husband and father and a friend to a foe in need .

You heard of the brave sea captain, you heard of the lives he saved,
You heard how his crew stood by him, and the passengers all behaved
When they heard his voice in the darkness out there on the raging sea—
But, say, have you ever wondered what manner of man was he?

You picture the bronzed sailor, broad-chested and handsome and strong,
With a calm clear voice in danger; but, maybe you may be wrong.
(There are different kinds of heroes that men will follow to hell)—
I knew him—a little bad-tempered man with a squinting eye and a yell.

You know of the cheerful optimist—or the sentimental scribe,
The writer for men and women and the whole of the human tribe.
He writes of the starving children till you swear in your sympathy—
But, say, have you ever wondered what manner of man is he?

You picture him tall and gloomy, while often he's short and fair;
You picture his eyes as burning 'neath the dark of his tumbled hair;
You'd think, in the cause of freedom he'd die in the prime of life—
But he's often a cad to his brother and a brute to his “poor little wife”.