Page 63 - Poetry-Books

A Reader’s Choice

Let critics praise the thoughtful prose
Of warriors and of sages,
Let maidens linger o’er the verse
Wherein the poet rages
From these I turn without regret
To Advertising Pages.

The authors drive unwilling pens
In search of novel plots;
The poet’s lines are haunted by
The ghosts of those he blots;
We smell the artist’s midnight oil
In all his lines and dots.

But oh! the Advertiser,
He seeks untraveled ways
We feel the eager wish to please
In every word he says;
The other’s toil is hired,
For leave to speak he pays.

No matter how inspired
The poet may seem to be,
For every foot I give his price
Each throb is charged to me;
The Advertiser’s efforts—
Are always thrown in, free.

They greet one with “Good-morning!”
Sweet words of cheer and hope!—
(What matter that they’re followed
By hints of toilet soap?)
They offer us great padded chairs
In every kind of slope.

A cup of chocolate is brought
Upon a dainty tray;
Assorted jack-knives then are shown
In bluff and easy way;

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