Lo! here's another corpse exhumed!
   Another Poet, disinterred!
Sensation cried, "Dig up the grave,
   And let the dust be hoed and stirred,
And bring the bones of Shakespeare out!
'Twill edify the throng, no doubt!

"The Byron scandal has grown old;
   That rare tit-bit is flat and stale.
The throng is gaping for more food;
   We need a new Sensation tale;
Old Shakespeare sleeps too well, and sound;
Tear off the shroud--dip up the ground.

"We have exhumed poor 'Raven Poe,'
   And proved beyond the shade of doubt,
He saw no raven, after all.
   Now trot the bones of Shakespeare out!
Byron, and Poe, and Shakespeare--good!
Who shall we serve up next, for food?"

And who? say I.  Oh, seers of earth,
   What corpse comes next?  I daily look
To see if some sage hasn't proved
   That Jones or Brown wrote Lalla Rookh.
Or Blifkins lent his brains to Moore,
Who was a plagiarist and boor!

Sensation, have your servants out--
Let them be watchful and alert;
We'll need a new discovery soon.
   Tell them to dig about the dirt,
And tear off Keats' or Shelley's shroud,
To please and edify the crowd.

Poems of reflection. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Chicago, M.A. Donohue & company, [c1905].

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