 | Voices and visions |  |
136
TO A YOUNG VERSIFIER
A slender book of lyrics you have printed,
Echoing the famous bards you most esteem;
Yet woe betide the man who shall have hinted
Its authenticity is not supreme!
Echoing the famous bards you most esteem;
Yet woe betide the man who shall have hinted
Its authenticity is not supreme!
With scorn austere, with prejudice in plenty,
Your moods toward fellow-singers are replete;—
Last January you were three-and-twenty,
Though seventy in your own sublime conceit.
Your moods toward fellow-singers are replete;—
Last January you were three-and-twenty,
Though seventy in your own sublime conceit.
For life has no dark deeps that your bold plummets
Of self-believed experience do not dare;
No laurel thrives on calm Parnassian summits
Too green or bounteous for your brows to bear.
Of self-believed experience do not dare;
No laurel thrives on calm Parnassian summits
Too green or bounteous for your brows to bear.
Thrice-blest, indeed, if you should deign to prize him,
The poet of this dull age you scarce endure!
And yet, if Shakespeare lived, you'd patronise him,
And grieve that Hamlet should be so ‘obscure.’
The poet of this dull age you scarce endure!
And yet, if Shakespeare lived, you'd patronise him,
And grieve that Hamlet should be so ‘obscure.’
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