 | The Poems of Sir William Watson |  |
TO A STRENUOUS CRITIC
You scorn as idle—you who praise
Each posturing hero of the herd—
The lofty bearing of a phrase,
The noble countenance of a word.
Each posturing hero of the herd—
The lofty bearing of a phrase,
The noble countenance of a word.
175
“This has no import for the age!”
And so your votive wreaths you heap
On him who brought unto our Stage
A mightier dulness o'er the deep.
And so your votive wreaths you heap
On him who brought unto our Stage
A mightier dulness o'er the deep.
Great Heaven! When these with clamour shrill
Drift out to Lethe's harbour bar,
A verse of Lovelace shall be still
As vivid as a pulsing star.
Drift out to Lethe's harbour bar,
A verse of Lovelace shall be still
As vivid as a pulsing star.
1916
| The Poems of Sir William Watson | |