'TIS a moon-tinted primrose, with a well Of trembling dew; in its soft atmosphere, A tiny whirlwind of sweet smells, doth dwell A ladybird; and when no sound is near That elfin hermit fans the fairy bell With glazen wings, (mirrors, on which appear Atoms of colours that flizz by unseen) And struts about his darling flower with pride. But, if some buzzing gnat with pettish spleen Comes whining by, the insect 'gins to hide; And folds its flimsy drapery between His speckled buckler and soft, silken side. So poets fly the critic's snappish heat, And sheath their minds in scorn and self-conceit. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CHARITAS NIMIA; OR THE DEAR BARGAIN by RICHARD CRASHAW RENEWAL by GLADYS NAOMI ARNOLD TO HIS INGENIOUS FRIEND, MR. N. TATE by PHILIP AYRES THE PLACE OF LOVE by S. C. BRACKETT ON KNOWING WHEN TO STOP by L. J. BRIDGMAN |