(_From right and left of stage enter Semi-Choruses Magazine Editors and Book Publishers, tearing their hair rhythmically._) SEMI-CHORUS OF EDITORS We have mailed their poems back To every man and woman-jack Who weigh the postman down From country and from town; But all in vain, in vain, They mail them in again! SEMI-CHORUS OF PUBLISHERS Though we've sent them flying, We are nearly dying, From the books of poetry Sent by people unto we; In vain we keep them off our shelves, They go and publish them themselves! SPIRIT OF THE REJECTION SLIPS All, bravely have ye toiled, my masters, aye, And I've toiled with you.... All in vain, in vain-- (_Enter, with a proud consciousness of duty well done, the Chorus of Correspondence, Kindergarten, Grammar, High-School and College Classes for Writing Verse. They sing Joyously_) The Day has come that we adore, The Day we've all been working for, Now babies in their bassinets And military school cadets, And chambermaids in each hotel And folks in slums who cannot spell, Professors, butchers, clergymen, And every one, have grabbed a pen: The Day has come--tra la, tra lee-- _Everybody_ writes poetry! (_They do a Symbolic Dance with Typewriters, during which enters the Chorus of Young Men who Run Poetry Magazines. These put on horn-rimmed spectacles and chant earnestly as follows_) CHORUS OF YOUNG MEN WHO RUN POETRY MAGAZINES We're very careful what we put in; This magazine is of highest grade; If it doesn't appeal to our personal taste There's no use sending it, we're afraid; We don't like Shelley, we don't like Keats, We don't like poets who're tactlessly dead; If you write like us there will be no fuss-- That's the best of verse, when the last word's said.... (_Bursting irrepressibly into youthful enthusiasm, and dashing their horn spectacles to the ground_) Yale! Yale! Yale! Our Poetry! Fine Poetry! Nobody Else's Poetry! Raw! Raw! Raw! Raw! (_Enter, modestly, the Person Responsible for the Poetic Renaissance in America. There are four of him--or her, as the case may be--Miss Monroe, Miss Rittenhouse, Mrs. Stork, Mr. Braithwaite. The Person stands in a row and recites in unison:_) I've made Poetry What it is today; Or ... at least ... That's what people say: Earnest-minded effort Never can be hid; The Others think They did it-- But--I--Did! SPIRIT OF THE REJECTION SLIP, EDITORS AND PUBLISHERS, (_faintly:_) You _did_? (_They rush out._) PERSON RESPONSIBLE (_still modestly_) Well, so they say-- But I have to go away. I'm due at a lecture I give at three today. (_The Person goes out in single file, looking at its watch. As it does so, there enters a pale and dishevelled girl in Greek robes. It is the Muse._) MUSE