THE THREE POETS
THREE poets went sailing down Boston Bay,
All into the East as the sun went down.
Each felt that the editors loved him best,
And would welcome spring poetry in Boston town.
For poets must dream, though the editors frown;
Their revel in visions will not be turned down,
Though the general reader is moaning!
Three editors climbed to the loftiest tower
That they could find in all Boston town.
And they planned to conceal themselves, hour after hour,
Till the Sun—and the poets—had both gone down.
For spring poets must write, though the editors rage.
The artistic nature must thus be engaged,
Though the publishers all are groaning!
Three corpses lay out on the Back Bay sand
Just after the first Spring Sun went down,
And the Press sat down to a banquet grand
In honor of poets no more in the town.
For poets will write while the editors sleep,
Though they've little to earn and nothing to keep,
And the populace all are moaning!
Lilian Whiting.