Some mute, inglorious Milton should arise
To stem this tide of preciousness and plan
Whereby divisionals can ruin eyes
And make a skeleton of college man.
Some fellow wiser than the common lot
Should stand for cultured indolence and ease,
For, after all, it matters nought, God wot,
What kind of fringe bedecks A.B. degrees.
So when the Yard grass sports a splendid green
And wantonness beguiles from every nook,
No wonder that most happiness is lean,
When nonchalance must batten on a book.
Some mute inglorious Milton should come hence
And buy the whole damn works for twenty cents.
But as Milt Gross would say, "Dese Meeltons don't have no more de two bits, aient it Meesis Feetlebaum?." Which is rather true, for the price of verse is rapidly descending, in fact too much so. If one really wants to make money he should take divisionals and then write his Prisoner's Song and collect the price of two Morris chairs, one divan and golf course--enough for any man, more than enough.
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FATAL ERRORS GIVE HOLY CROSS CONTEST
