"WHY art thou sad, Poeticus?" said I.
So blue was he I feared he would not speak.
"Alas! I've lost my grip," was his reply—
"I've writ but forty poems, sir, this week."
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John Kendrick Bangs · Vanguardias / s. XX
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"WHY art thou sad, Poeticus?" said I.
So blue was he I feared he would not speak.
"Alas! I've lost my grip," was his reply—
"I've writ but forty poems, sir, this week."
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