Oh, I am just a sort of stick without a single parlor trick, I have no gift of repartee, of wit I am the goat, I cannot play the mimic's part, and prestidigitator's art Is something quite beyond me—and I never sang a note. I cannot bang piano for the basso or soprano, Nor do a double shuffle just to liven things a bit. I really envy those who can, the talented and joyous clan Who brighten up a party and who always make a hit. Yes, I'm an artless sort of wight who knows no verses to recite, I've never kept the table or the parlor in a roar, But still there is a place for me wherever I may chance to be, For I'm a bully audience, and that is where I score; I grin at repartee and chaff, at others' pranks I loudly laugh, And so I know I'm useful in the universe, because The jokesters' jokes would not get by unless such stupid folks as I Were round about to listen and to furnish the applause. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...GEORGE CRABBE by EDWIN ARLINGTON ROBINSON SONNET by WILLIAM ALEXANDER (1567-1640) A SPRING CAROL by ADRA CAROLINE BATCHELDER THE GHOSTS' MOONSHINE by THOMAS LOVELL BEDDOES AN OLD SONG by SOLOMON BLOOMGARDEN THE LOVE SONNETS OF PROTEUS: 51. FAREWELL TO JULIET (13) by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT PUSSY WILLOWS by ELIZABETH BRADY |