THE POET
(Musical Monologue)
 
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I have poems galore,
And I'm still writing more
Tho' none of them yet have been published,
I've rows upon rows
Of rhythmical prose
And none of that yet has been published,
I've loads and I've loads
Of sonnets and odes
All waiting, of course, to be published,
I've plays in blank verse
Which are really no worse
Than lots of the plays that are published.

Still I won't tell a fib,
All the publishers jib,
And my protests are quite ineffectual;
For refusing to take,
The excuse that they make,
Is, 'Your poems are too intellectual.'

When I'm going to write
I sit up all night
And I say to myself, 'If that's published,
I shall spend all my time,
Looking out for a rhyme,
Which has never been thought of or published.'
But my efforts are vain,
Why? I cannot explain
I still am unprinted, unpublished.
Though I've reams upon reams
Of poetical dreams
Which would realise millions, if published.

But I won't tell a fib,
All the publishers jib,
And my protests are quite ineffectual;
For refusing to take,
The excuse that they make,
Is, 'Your poems are too intellectual.'

 
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Written and composed by Albert Chevalier & Alfred H. West - 1905
Performed by Albert Chevalier (1861-1923)
From monologues.co.uk Music Hall Lyrics Collection
 
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