Crown the heads of better men
With lilies and with morning-glories!
I'm unworthy of a pen—
These are Bread-and-Butter stories.
Shall I tell you how I know?
Strangers wrote and told me so.
He who only toils for fame
I pronounce a silly Billy.
I can't dine upon a name,
Or look dressy in a lily.
And—oh shameful truth to utter!—
I won't live on bread and butter.
Sometimes now (and sometimes then)
Meat and wine my soul requires.
Satan tempted me—my pen
Fills the house with open fires.
I must have a horse or two—
Babies, oh my Love—and you!
G. M.
