Come On, You Roseate Day!

When you’ve penned an especially bright bit of verse, It’s good for one day in the year; When you’ve made a neat hit or an epigram terse, In only one sheet ’twill appear. No matter how bright be the stuff that you write About organized ball and its quarrels, Don’t stop, trip, or shirk, but keep up the good work, For you never can rest on your laurels.

When strenuous rhyming bedews your pale brow, And you’ve gained an effect really snappy, Don’t think, “That’ll hold ’em a while, and so now I’ll rest up a bit and be happy.” For when you do well, you have to excel Your own lyrics and sonnets and chorals; So keep on with the dance, O you Anatole France, For you never can rest on your laurels.

Keep the engine a-going, the furnace keep hot, With plenty of pepper and spice. For you see that’s the kind of a job you have got— Oh, I say, this is beaucoup advice! But don’t get too good, or really you would Revolutionize all baseball morals. Ah, well, you should fret, for some day, you bet, Some roseate day in the far, far away, [Funereal? No, for I don’t mean it so], You’ll take a long rest on your laurels.