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Show Rippling Rhymes By WAXT MASON J M Y l ow I UL. i his great mid gllted woman In Judgment often sits; her genius superhuman super-human equips her. she admits. The bards of epochs olden she says, were merely punk we thought their works Wore golden, but now we know they're Junk ii)i, musie filled their verses when those bardS used to write; but Amy renrs and curses when rhythm is in sight. She lectures in her attic to poets gone to seed: "Lines mint bo lame, rheumatic, before they're fit to read if lines are clpar aa water,, and like bright water flow, why, then. it's time to slaughter the hard who' made them so l ld poets were dead ringers for. BfOI kldgblrdl and wrens, hut now our truest singers must sound like guinea hens. It seems so Btrange,'1 says Amy, "that people once read ECeata; not only rend him. blame m, but thought his verses treats. And Tennyson! His twaddle was once accounted ac-counted grand. and held up as a' model for bards throughout the hind Mut we have traveled greatly In these' high modern times; ws iaii at Bill that's Stately and fine in poets' rhymes. .Ml ersi halting, or I w H shoo them honce; no psalter must he H paalting that shows a lick of sense." oo Blmlnl, the small Wesl Indian H island off the Florida coast, was thought by the early Spaniards to con-tain con-tain Die mvthic.il fountain of youth |