Although our dark career
Sometimes involves the crime of stealing,
We rather think that we’reNot altogether void of feeling.
Although we live by strife,
We’re always sorry to begin it,
For what, we ask, is life
Without a touch of Poetry in it?
(All)
Hail, Poetry, thou heav’n-born maid!
Thou gildest e’en the pirate’s trade.
Hail, flowing fount of sentiment!
All hail!
All hail!
Divine emollient!