When I have struggled through three hundred years <br />of Roman history, and hastened o'er <br />Some French play-(though I have my private fears <br />Of flunking sorely when I take the floor <br />In class),-when I have steeped my soul in gore <br />And Greek, and figured over half a ream <br />With Algebra, which I do (not) adore, <br />How shall I manage to compose a theme? <br /> <br />It's well enough to talk of poor and peers, <br />And munch the golden apples' shiny core, <br />And lay a lot of heroes on their biers;- <br />While the great Alec, knocking down a score, <br />Takes out his handkerchief, boohoo-ing, "More!"- <br />But harshly I awaken from my dream, <br />To find a new,-er,-privilege,-in store: <br />How shall I manage to compose a theme? <br /> <br />After I've swallowed prophecies of seers, <br />And trailed Aeneas from the Trojan shore, <br />Learned how Achilles, after many jeers, <br />On piggy Agamemnon got to sore, <br />And heard how Hercules, Esq., tore <br />Around, and swept and dusted with a stream, <br />There's one last duty,-let's not call it bore,- <br />How shall I manage to compose a theme? <br /> <br />Envoi <br /> <br />Of what avail is all my mighty lore? <br />I beat my breast, I tear my hair, I scream: <br />"Behold, I have a Herculean chore. <br />How shall I manage to compose a theme?"<br /><br />Edward Estlin Cummings<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/ballad-of-the-scholar-s-lament/
