TO her, for I must still regard her As feminine in her degree, Who has been my unkind bombarder Year after year, in grief and glee, Year after year with oaken tree; And yet between whiles my laudator In terms astonishing to me -- To the Right Reverend The Spectator I here, a humble dedicator, Bring the last apples from my tree. In tones of love, in tones of warning, She hailed me through my brief career; And kiss and buffet, night and morning, Told me my grandmamma was near; Whether she praised me high and clear Through her unrivalled circulation, Or, sanctimonious insincere, She damned me with a misquotation -- A chequered but a sweet relation, Say, was it not, my granny dear? Believe me, granny, altogether Yours, though perhaps to your surprise. Oft have you spruced my wounded feather, Oft brought a light into my eyes -- For notice still the writer cries. In any civil age or nation, The book that is not talked of dies. So that shall be my termination: Whether in praise or execration, Still, if you love me, criticise! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REVAMPING THE VIRGIN by KAREN SWENSON LOW BAROMETER by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES EPITAPH ON THE LADY MARY VILLIERS [OR VILLERS] (1) by THOMAS CAREW SOULS LAKE by ROBERT STUART FITZGERALD AFTER A LECTURE ON KEATS by OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES ON THE NEW FORCES OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG PARLIAMENT by JOHN MILTON |