Behold in me a Heavy Intellectual. I strive to give those sorry human dregs, My elders, now so feebly ineffectual, Instruction in the art of sucking eggs. Our Writing Class is just a sordid dollarship With scarce a tint of Truth's eternal flame, Devoid of Background, destitute of Scholarship -- Or any how it was before I came. I need not read the work of those I criticize, For every schoolboy knows they'll have to start To Russianize or Germanize or Briticize Before we get a gleam of Native Art. While some, I hear, have gained at minor colleges B.A.'s, M.A.'s, or even Ph.D.'s, Such homemade tags are ludicrous apologies For Oxford, Bonn or Heidelberg degrees. I quite approve of Humor when it's serious; I'll even tolerate a learned pun; But Mirth, as such, is highly deleterious, And what I most abominate, is Fun. I wonder how the public stands their caperings. I wonder why their books adorn the shelf. I wonder who will print my solemn vaporings. I wonder when I'll tumble to myself. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...HOW'S MY BOY? by SYDNEY THOMPSON DOBELL ON THE DEATH OF LITTLE MAHALA ASHCRAFT by JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY WITH A NANTUCKET SHELL by CHARLES HENRY WEBB ON READING OF THE DEATH OF THOMAS WOLFE by MARION LOUISE BLISS MUSIC ON CHRISTMAS MORNING by ANNE BRONTE |