Let me be a rondeau
With a sweet refrain,
Or an aliquando
Sonnet to the rain;
Let me be a lyric
Tenuous as air,
Or an a la Viereck
Passion song to hair;
Ballad, epic, quatrain,
Couplet—ay, a line—
"Let it rain or not rain,
Let it storm or shine."
Shape me as you list to,
Glorious or small;
Put a comic twist to
Anything at all.
Only give me fame that
Never, never dies,
Christen me a name that
Reaches to the skies.
This is my ambition:
Not the greatest rhyme,
Not the first position
On the page of time—
But, O poet, steep me,
Till, with gum and hooks,
Womenfolk will keep me
In their pocket-books!
"Bedbooks"
(There is said to be a steady demand for "bedbooks" in England. There are readers who find in Gibbon a sedative for tired nerves; there are others who enjoy Trollope's quiet humour. Some people find in Henry James's tangled syntax the restful diversion they seek, and others enjoy Mr. Howells's unexciting realism. —The Sun.)
How sleep the brave who sink to rest,
Lulled by the waves of dreamy diction,
Like that appearing in the best
Of modern fiction!