From The Topeka State Journal, March 14, 1913. By Roy K. Moulton. I don’t want to live in Arcadia, Quite willingly I confess; The realm that the poets rave about, The kingdom of happiness; Where all is serene as a morn in Spring, Birds singing in every tree. There must be a catch in the thing somewhere. It doesn’t look good to me. The work in Arcadia is a cinch; They watch the sheep all day, And when they need music to while the time They hunt up their flutes and play. They work on a very peculiar plan. The salaries there are nil. No one ever saw an Arcadian Who had a two dollar bill. They wear sheepskin togas so very brief They reach only to the knees, And caper about in a care-free way No matter how chill the breeze. There’s nothing but happiness in that land With the proletariat, But I couldn’t ever be happy enough To dress in a rig like that. The life in Arcadia listens tame With no moving picture show, And never a single league bowling game, And never a chance to go And see a good circus and eat peanuts Or laugh at the chimpanzee. There may be pure joy in Arcadia, But this town looks good to me.