On The Platform

When Dr. Bill Bartlett stepped out of the hum Of Mammon's distracting and wearisome strife To stand and deliver a lecture on "Some Conditions of Intellectual Life," I cursed the offender who gave him the hall To lecture on any conditions at all!

But he rose with a fire divine in his eye, Haranguing with endless abundance of breath, Till I slept; and I dreamed of a gibbet reared high, And Dr. Bill Bartlett was dressing for death. And I thought in my dream: "These conditions, no doubt, Are bad for the life he was talking about."

So I cried (pray remember this all was a dream): "Get off of the platform!--it isn't the kind!" But he fell through the trap, with a jerk at the beam, And wiggled his toes to unburden his mind. And, O, so bewitching the thoughts he advanced, That I clung to his ankles, attentive, entranced!