We are not "handy" to the sub;
Our hall-boy service is a joke;
Our janitor's a foreign dub
Who never does a thing but smoke
Our landlord says he will not cut
A cent from rent already dear;
And so we sought for better--but
We think we'll stay another year.



Birds and Bards

When Milton sang "O nightingale
That on yon gloomy spray,"
The sonneteer whom we revere
Lauded that birdie's lay.

While Keats's ode upon that bird
Was limpid as the notes
That, sweet and strong, were in the song
Of Philomelian throats.

And Bryant's "To a Water-fowl!"
Had praise in every line,
And every word about the bird
Impinged on the divine.

When Wordsworth did the skylark stuff,