Light flaky muffins, oven hot and golden topped, a suppertime goody that certainly will strike that hungry spot. Serve them with the finest, richest syrup you can buy anywhere. That’s “Velva,” with the best of flavor, nourishing goodness and the satisfying elements that put real strength into growing children. Give them Velva three times a day. They’ll say, “Great,” when they eat it on your flaky hot biscuits or on waffles or batter cakes.
I hope the unknown author of this little masterpiece will excuse my italics. The public simply will not see beauties that are not pushed under its nose. If the public could realize how much more difficult as well as more musical this style of writing, with its rich assonances and rhymes on day, say, great, flaky, cakes, is, than the insipid tinklings of the lyrists who feebly strum in pathetically threadbare metres through the pages of most magazines, then we would have a revolution in verse-writing. That we have not yet arrived at the revolution is proved by the fact that a talent of this order confines itself to writing syrup advertisements.
Take another case. The following appeared in a well known monthly. The editor doubtless looks on free verse as the rankest heresy:
A pipe, a maid,
A sheet of ice,
The glow of life—
And that glow doubled
By the glow of “Lady Strike”
Cuddling warm in the bowl;