IN speaking of 'aspiration,' From the recesses of a pen more dolorous than blackness, Were you presenting us with one more form of imperturbable French drollery, Or was it self directed banter? Habitual ennui Took from you, your invisible hot helmet of anæmia While you were filling your little glass from the decanter Of a transparent-murky, would-be-truthful "hobohemia"— And then facetiously Went off with it? Your soul's supplanter, The spirit of good narrative, flatters you, convinced that in reporting briefly One choice incident, you have known beauty other than that of stys, on Which to fix your admiration. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE BODY BREAKING by MARVIN BELL YOUNG BLOOD by STEPHEN VINCENT BENET MY HUT; AFTER TRAN QUANG KHAI by HAYDEN CARRUTH TRIFLE by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON AT NIGHT; SONNET by AMY LOWELL THE DESIRE OF NATIONS by EDWIN MARKHAM |