The Dead Poet's Society (2)

Look at that, he's making love and he's going
to write about it, do we really want to know?
So who was the great love poet - Shelley, Browning,
Keats or me? Maybe Byron conjured up mystery.

Certainly not me, I haven't suffered infidelity,
ironic, you must suffer so that you can write,
otherwise, everything is rote, hackneyed, even fake,
I can tell you, just ask me whether I did or not.

Remember that trail of destruction you left behind,
Byron and Shelley grinned, they just closed the door;
they passed Ogden Nash, 'Oh, yes,' they said - 'You think
that you should say "yes" to everything, don't be silly.'

Perhaps we should all just wander 'lonely as a cloud,'
autonomous, untouched, happy, laughing, 'Bye Ogden.'