From the Evening Star, July 2, 1913.By Philander Johnson.
The person who always insists on the facts
Met a troubadour singing his lay;
His mood was not rude with intent to intrude
As he caroled so light and so gay.
And this was the song that came floating so free
As he journeyed along without care:
“Oh, the Nightingale Sweetly is Singing to Me
As the Violets Perfume the Air.”
Said the person who thinks in statistics and tracts,
“I am sorry that I must arise
And say that your lay is from truth far away.
It fills me with grief and surprise.
For the violet, when it is blossoming wild,
No perfume possesses; that’s clear.
And it’s proved by the data which I have compiled
That we do not have nightingales here.”
So, the person who strictest adherence exacts
To the precepts by learning laid down
Told the throng how the song was essentially wrong
And should not be allowed in the town.
We heard with respect and we thanked him full loud
For the lesson he gave us that day—
And then we forgot him and followed the crowd
That danced to the troubadour’s lay.
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