What shall we say about the authors' faces

That look at us with whimsy or with phlegm

From public prints for sale in public places?

Female and male hath God created them,

And why? And even so, how very queerly!

Between the onsets of their art they pose

Demurely, boldly, carelessly, austerely,

Or gazing somewhat glumly down their nose.

It's plain they have been interrupted rudely,

Startled from dream, disturbed while reading books,

By camera-men who must have acted crudely

To get such galleries of dirty looks,

And blank surprise, and costumes worn so quaintly.

How do you hike them? Simple, sour, or saintly?

How will you have them? Hatted, hairy, hatless?

With pipe? With glittering teeth? With frown? With smirk?

Patting a dog? Patting a cat? Or catless?

Or how about an Author hard at Work?

You need not make your mind up, gentle reader.

The camera-man will get them, every one,

From left-wing lowbrow to the right-wing leader,

And editors will print them by the ton,

To show you, when a writer does his writing,

The way he holds his mouth-Come in! Come in!

Well, are you sure you'll have the proper lighting?-

Well, no. I sketch it out and just begin.

Well, yes. I work best wearing this old sweater.

Stand there. I think a side view will be better.