BY what dread logic, by what grand neglect,
Wide as our nation, doth this relic last
This relic of old sterile customs past
Long since into deep shame without respect?
Even I whom this contrivance fain would teach
A low submission, pray within my soul
That these my masters may not reap the dole
Of finding remedy beyond their reach.
In lofty mood I mount the reeking box,
And travel through the land. So Terence once
Moved in old Rome, so — wondrous paradox
Moved Esop in old Greece, the dwarf and dunce,
Then I reflect how their immortal wit
Makes the world laugh with mockery of it.
Published in Cleveland Gazette, November 12, 1910
Also published in Wings of Oppression, 1921