"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. Through all the flimsy things we see at once As easily as through a Naples bonnet -- Trash of all trash! -- how can a lady don it? Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff -- Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff Twirls into trunk-paper while you con it." And, veritably, Sol is right enough. The general tuckermanities are arrant Bubbles -- ephemeral and so transparent -- But this is, now, -- you may depend upon it -- Stable, opaque, immortal -- all by dint Of the dear names that lie concealed within't. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CAROL: NEW STYLE by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET THERE WILL BE STARS by SARA TEASDALE THE SCARECROW by WALTER JOHN DE LA MARE THE DEATH OF THE HIRED MAN by ROBERT FROST THE NEW COLOSSUS by EMMA LAZARUS THE HERITAGE by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL ODES: BOOK 1: ODE 17. ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY by MARK AKENSIDE |