He wrote of a folk imagined. Conceived of his fertile mind— He filled it with clever phrases, With cunning and care designed. He fancied what fame and favor His brain-builded book would bring— The public and press pronounced it, "A feeble and foolish thing." He wrote of his next-door neighbors, The ones whom the whole world knows— Devices did not delay him, 'Twas penned in the plainest prose. So well did he see his subject, He had but to bare his heart— The crowds and the critics claim it, "A wonderful work of art!" |