Page 55 - Poetry-Books

Ballade of a Rejecter of MS

(With apologies to the author of the “Ballade of Rejected MS,” and
frank confessions of plagiarism in the matter of rhymes, etc., etc.)

We have read both your verse and your prose
(I am one of the “reading machines”),
We must read the productions of those
From whom we protect magazines,—
The “talented” maids in their teens,—
And we’re shocked at your—let us say—“face!”
So we know what the editor means
By, “We’re sorry we haven’t the space.”

Now, that madrigal written to Rose—
Its “feet” do not mate, and it leans;
And those “triolets, rondels, rondeaux”—
We’ve read Dobson! And as to “Fifines,”
Just suppose you read that to marines!
Our printer would flee from his case
Which is one thing the editor means
By, “We’re sorry we haven’t the space.”

Those tales, they were ghastly—but Poe’s,
And legends!—our “limit which screens”
Will never their horror disclose!
Nor unclasp that portfolio’s shagreens,
At least, until sense supervenes!
To say “It’s not needed,” with grace,
That is what the kind editor means
By, “We’re sorry we haven’t the space.”

ENVOY.
Contributor! —back of the scenes
The thoroughbreds settle the pace!—
That is what the good editor means
By, “We’re sorry we haven’t the space.”

— Tudor Jenks (Century Magazine, 1888)

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