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.