UNHAPPY poets of a sunken prime! You to reviewers are as ball to bat. They shadow you with Homer, knock you flat With Shakespeare: bludgeons brainingly sublime On you the excommunicates of Rhyme, Because you sing not in the living Fat. The wiry whizz of an intrusive gnat Is verse that shuns their self-producing time. Sound them their clocks, with loud alarum trump, Or watches ticking temporal at their fobs, You win their pleased attention. But, bright God O' the lyre, what bully-drawlers they applaud! Rather for us a tavern-catch, and bump Chorus where Lumpkin with his Giles hobnobs. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN EPIGRAM ON SCOLDING by JONATHAN SWIFT HEART'S EASE by MATHILDE BLIND CALL OF THE OPEN by LAURA E. BRADSHAW LOVE IS A STAR by WILLIAM STANLEY BRAITHWAITE WOOING IN A DREAM by NICHOLAS BRETON ABER STATIONS: STATIO PRIMA by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN THE ROMAUNT OF THE PAGE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING |