“For I am the guy with the fishy eye And the think tank filled with dope, That’s known as the Clark Street Rope.” [Pg 27] [Pg 27] MISS LEGION She is hotfoot after Cultyure, She pursues it with a club. She breathes a heavy atmosphere Of literary flub. No literary shrine so far But she is there to kneel; But— Her favorite line of reading Is O. Meredith’s “Lucille.” But— Of course she’s up on pictures— Passes for a connoisseur. On free days at the Institute You’ll always notice her. She qualifies approval Of a Titian or Corot; But— She throws a fit of rapture When she comes to Bouguereau. But— And when you talk of music, She is Music’s devotee. She will tell you that Beethoven Always makes her wish to pray; And “dear old Bach!” His very name She says, her ear enchants; But— Her favorite piece is Weber’s “Invitation to the Dance.” But— “Invitation to the Dance.” [Pg 28] [Pg 28] A BALLADE OF DEATH AND TIME I hold it truth with him who sweetly sings— The weekly music of the London Sphere— That deathless tomes the living present brings: Great literature is with us year on year. Books of the mighty dead, whom men revere, Remind me I can make my books sublime. But prithee, bay my brow while I am here: Why do we always wait for Death and Time? Shakespeare, great spirit, beat his mighty wings, As I beat mine, for the occasion near. He knew, as I, the worth of present things: Great literature is with us year on year. Methinks I meet across the gulf his clear And
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