FACILITY

FACILITY

So easy ‘tis to make a rhyme,

That did the world but know it,

Your coachman might Parnassus climb,

Your butler be a poet.

 

Then, oh, how charming it would be

If, when in haste hysteric

You called the page, you learned that he

Was grappling with a lyric.

 

Or else what rapture it would yield,

When cook sent up the salad,

To find within its depths concealed

A touching little ballad.

 

Or if for tea and toast you yearned,

What joy to find upon it

The chambermaid had coyly laid

A palpitating sonnet.

 

Your baker could the fashion set,

Your butcher might respond well,

With every tart a triolet,

With every chop a rondel.

 

Your tailor's bill . . . well, I’ll be blowed!

Dear chap! I never knowed him . . .

He's gone and written me an ode,

Instead of what I owed him.

 

So easy ‘tis to rhyme . . . yet stay!

Oh, terrible misgiving!

Please do not give the game away . . .

I've got to make my living.

 

                                 Robert  Service

 

NOTES

The above poem is from a collection of poems included under the title “ Ballads of a Bohemian “ written by Robert Service after he moved to Paris in 1913. He divided this collection into four books; “Spring,” “Early Summer,” “Late Summer,” and “Winter.” Along with the poems are diary entries describing his experiences while living in a garret room on Montparnasse under the persona of an American poet named Stephen Poore. The last diary entry is dated January 1919 and the collection was first published in 1921.