LINES COMPOSED AFTER SEEIN’ A BOOK FULL OF BYRON’S LOVE LETTERS

One reason why I’m ’most afraid to get So famous like we poets always do, Is that they’ll print my spoony letters, too, As is the way with all of us who let Our fancies caper. Hadst I thought whilst yet Unknown, I’dst be a poet, quite a few Endearin’ words with which I soughtst to woo More girls than one I’dst not have wrote, you bet! If Susan Sanderson shouldst find I sent The valentine I saidst I wrote for her To Jane Jones, too, the thirty cents I’ve spent For soda water’s wasted, I’dst infer: Why must we poets do things we’ll repent? And oh! why thus didst me and Byron err?