(Parody is a genre frowned upon by your professors
of literature... And yet it is a gentle art--
"The Point of View" in May _Scribner's_.)
A sweet disorder in the verse
That never looks behind
Shall profit not who steals my purse,
Let joy be unconfined!
How vainly men themselves amaze!
The stars began to blink,
An art that there were few to praise,
Nor any drop to drink.
O sleep, it is a blessed thing
Which I must ne'er enjoy!
There never was a fairer spring
Than when I was a boy.
One fond embrace and then we part!
Good--by, my lover, good-by!
And yet it is a gentle art,
Which nobody can deny.
