The Test by Robert W. Service
Sometimes a bit of Rhyme I see In Magazine or book That makes such fond appeal to me Its flaws I overlook; It may be just a simple lay, Yet humanly so pat, That when I've scanned it twice I say: "I Wish I'd written that."
But when I read some classic ode Of gods and mighty men, To finish it I have to goad My patience now and then. Although to thrill to it I try, Its organ note goes flat, And honestly I cannot sigh: "I wish I'd written that."
Some poems lift aloft the mind, Some whisper to the heart; Unto the last I'm more inclined Through innocent of art. Some verses get beneath my skin- Like Casey at the Bat, Or Jim Bloodso or Gunga Din- Why didn't I write that?
These bards have got the edge on me, I've missed the lyric bus; My rhymes and metres, I agree, Are sadly obvious , My balladeering lays I rue, I'm just a copy-cat . . . Goldarn that devil, Dan Mcgrew - Oh why did I write that?
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