A glass, Earth’s mysteries to unfold,

And show me where these things be.

MEMORIES

Yon maiden once a jester did adore,

Yon

Who early died and in the church-yard sleeps.

Once in a while she reads his best jokes o’er

And sits her down and madly, sorely weeps.

A SAD STATE

I know a man in Real Estate,

I know

Whose pride of self’s sublime.

He’d like to be a poet great

But “can’t afford the time.”

AD ASTRA PER OTIUM

As I read over old John Dryden’s verse,

As

The rhymes of men like William Blake, and Gay,

The stuff that helped fill Edmund Waller’s purse,

And that which placed on Marvell’s brow the bay,

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