I was a Poet! <br /> But I did not know it, <br /> Neither did my Mother, <br /> Nor my Sister nor my Brother. <br /> The Rich were not aware of it; <br /> The Poor took no care of it. <br /> The Reverend Mr. Drewitt <br /> Never knew it. <br /> The High did not suspect it; <br /> The Low could not detect it. <br /> Aunt Sue <br /> Said it was obviously untrue. <br /> Uncle Ned <br /> Said I was off my head: <br /> (This from a Colonial <br /> Was really a good testimonial.) <br /> Still everybody seemed to think <br /> That genius owes a good deal to drink. <br /> So that is how <br /> I am not a poet now, <br /> And why <br /> My inspiration has run dry. <br /> It is no sort of use <br /> To cultivate the Muse <br /> If vulgar people <br /> Can't tell a village pump from a church steeple. <br /> I am merely apologizing <br /> For the lack of the surprising <br /> In what I write <br /> To-night. <br /> I am quite well-meaning, <br /> But a lot of things are always intervening <br /> Between <br /> What I mean <br /> And what it is said <br /> I had in my head. <br /> It is all very puzzling. <br /> Uncle Ned <br /> Says Poets need muzzling. <br /> He might <br /> Be right. <br />Good-night!<br /><br />Sir Walter Raleigh<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-of-myself-2/
