Black Beetles in Amber

Writer folk across the bay

Take the pains to see and say—

All their upward palms in air:

"Joaquin Miller's cut his hair!"

Hasten, hasten, writer folk—

In the gutters rake and poke,

If by God's exceeding grace

You may hit upon the place

Where the barber threw at length

Samson's literary strength.

Find it, find it if you can;

Happy the successful man!

He has but to put one strand

In his beaver's inner band

And his intellect will soar

As it never did before!

While an inch of it remains

He will noted be for brains,

And at last ('twill so befall)

Fit to cease to write at all.