The poem
They say that rhyme and rhythm are Outmoded now. I do not know, for I am far From high of brow. But if the twain you take away, Since basely bred, Proud Poetry, I dare to say, Would scarce be read.
With humble heart I thus define My rôle in rhyme: Oh may I never write a line That does not chime. And though a verse be nigh as sweet As honey-comb, To please me, let it have the beat Of metronome.
So to my modest muse I give A grateful pen; Of lowliness I sing, who live With lowly men. And though I never cease to grieve Poetic lack, I do my best,--please take or leave A Verseman's Pack.