Don’t Write A Book

If this cold world a grudge you owe,

              Don’t write a book

Don’t have the heart to use it so,

              Don’t write a book.

Most any other course pursue;

Unsheathe your sword and run it through,

But don’t, O, don’t, I beg of you,

              Don’t write a book.

If you have swum Niagara Falls,

              Don’t write a book;

If you have caught hot cannon balls,

              Don’t write a book.

Because you’ve been a fool and got

A reputation on the spot,

Don’t think the world yearns for your rot,

              Don’t write a book.

If you have been a social Czar,

              Don’t write a book;

Because you know what rare wines are,

              Don’t write a book.

The world would rather drink the wine,

Which you have found so passing fine;

But of your work they’d read no line, –

              Don’t write a book.

If you have been upon the stage,

              Don’t write a book;

E’en though you’re quite the latest rage,

              Don’t write a book.

You’re good enough to sing and dance,

And throw the old bald heads a glance, –

But literature? You have no chance,

              Don’t write a book.

If you have been a pugilist,

              Don’t write a book;

You’d best depend upon your fist,

              Don’t write a book.

But if you’ve struck a “thought divine”,

Which you could write out in a line,

You might do well, I should opine,

              To write a book.

April 13, 1895

Pub. in Boston

Courier, May 5,

            1895