 | Young Arthur |  |
The phrase was coarse I freely own,
In such an age, an age so prone
To that refinement whose soft ray—
In which the tiny trifles play
At blindman's buff I would have said,
But that had grossièreté betray'd—
Whose soft ray can by shining charm,
But never has the force to warm;
Which flimsy fancy can control,
But never can excite the soul.
In such an age, an age so prone
To that refinement whose soft ray—
In which the tiny trifles play
At blindman's buff I would have said,
But that had grossièreté betray'd—
Whose soft ray can by shining charm,
But never has the force to warm;
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But never can excite the soul.
| Young Arthur | |