THE POPULAR SONG

I never was naturally vicious;
My spirit was lamb-like and mild;
I never was bad or malicious;
I loved with the trust of a child.
But hate now my bosom is burning,
And all through my being I long
To get one solid thump on the head of the chump
Who wrote the new popular song.

[Illustration: "The washwoman sings it all wrong."]

The office-boy hums it,
The book-keeper drums it,
It's whistled by all on the street;
The hand-organ grinds it,
The music-box winds it,
It's sung by the "cop" on the beat.
The newsboy, he spouts it,
The bootblack, he shouts it,
The washwoman sings it all wrong;
And I laugh, and I weep,
And I wake, and I sleep,
To the tune of that popular song.

Its measures are haunting my dreaming;
I rise at the breakfast-bell's call
To hear the new chambermaid screaming
The chorus aloud through the hall.