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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.

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