Page:The eighth sin (IA eighthsin00morlrich).pdf/20



the wheel of song are but scantly oiled
 * And the ballad is tinkered beyond repair,

When the springs of metre are all uncoiled
 * And your pitiful cupboard of rhymes is bare,
 * When Pegasus, poor old knock-kneed mare,

Heeds not the spur in her bleeding hide—
 * What is the remedy? Brush your hair

And see that your shoes are neatly tied!

When the bard has vainly scraped and toiled,
 * And gazes at last in black despair

On the Muse's fountain muddied and roiled,
 * Finding no dainty image there
 * When verse is a bitterness and a snare,

And even your hypocrite friend deride—
 * Put your feet on the nearest chair

And see that your shoes are neatly tied!