In youth when oft my muse was dumb,
My fancy nighly dead,
To make my inspiration come
I stood upon my head;
And thus I let the blood down flow
Into my cerebellum,
And published every Spring or so
Slim tomes in vellum.
Alas! I am rheumatic now,
Grey is my crown;
I can no more with brooding brow
Stand upside-down.
I fear I might in such a pose
Burst brain blood-vessel;
And that would be a woeful close
To my rhyme wrestle.
If to write verse I must reverse
I fear I’m stymied;
In ink of prose I must immerse
A pen de-rhymèd.
No more to spank the lyric lyre
Like Keats or Browning,
May I inspire the Sacred Fire
My Upside-downing.
(Robert William Service)
More Poetry from Robert William Service:
- Fighting Mac (Robert William Service Poems)
- If You Had The Choice Of Two Women To Wed (Robert William Service Poems)
- (The sunshine seeks my little room) (Robert William Service Poems)
- White-Collar Spaniard (Robert William Service Poems)
- The Song Of The Pacifist (Robert William Service Poems)
- The Gramaphone At Fond-Du-Lac (Robert William Service Poems)