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The Sage and the Troubadour

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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