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Poem by Robert William Service
So easy 'tis to make a rhyme, That did the world but know it, Your coachman might Parnassus climb, Your butler be a poet. Then, oh, how charming it would be If, when in haste hysteric You called the page, you learned that he Was grappling with a lyric. Or else what rapture it would yield, When cook sent up the salad, To find within its depths concealed A touching little ballad. Or if for tea and toast you yearned, What joy to find upon it The chambermaid had coyly laid A palpitating sonnet. Your baker could the fashion set; Your butcher might respond well; With every tart a triolet, With every chop a rondel. Your tailor's bill... well, I'll be blowed! Dear chap! I never knowed him... He's gone and written me an ode, Instead of what I owed him. So easy 'tis to rhyme... yet stay! Oh, terrible misgiving! Please do not give the game away... I've got to make my living.
Robert William Service
Robert William Service's other poems:
English Poetry. E-mail firstname.lastname@example.org