I was a Poet! 
 But I did not know it,
 Neither did my Mother,
 Nor my Sister nor my Brother.
 The Rich were not aware of it;
 The Poor took no care of it.
 The Reverend Mr. Drewitt
 Never knew it.
 The High did not suspect it;
 The Low could not detect it.
 Aunt Sue
 Said it was obviously untrue.
 Uncle Ned
 Said I was off my head:
 (This from a Colonial
 Was really a good testimonial.)
 Still everybody seemed to think
 That genius owes a good deal to drink.
 So that is how
 I am not a poet now,
 And why
 My inspiration has run dry.
 It is no sort of use
 To cultivate the Muse
 If vulgar people
 Can't tell a village pump from a church steeple.
 I am merely apologizing
 For the lack of the surprising
 In what I write
 To-night.
 I am quite well-meaning,
 But a lot of things are always intervening
 Between
 What I mean
 And what it is said
 I had in my head.
 It is all very puzzling.
 Uncle Ned
 Says Poets need muzzling.
 He might
 Be right.
Good-night!