Large paper surely cannot hide
Their grammar, nor excuse their rhyme,
The anecdotes that they provide
Are older than the dawn of time.

Ye bores, of every shape and size,
Who make a tedium of delight,
Good-bye, the last of my good-byes.
Good night, to all your clan good night!

* * *

Thus in a sullen fit we swore,
But on mature reflection,
Went on collecting more and more,
And kept our old collection!



THE BALLADE OF THE SUBCONSCIOUS SELF



Who suddenly calls to our ken
The knowledge that should not be there;
Who charms Mr. Stead with the pen,
Of the Prince of the Powers of the Air;
Who makes Physiologists stare -
Is he ghost, is he demon, or elf,