Page 49 - Poetry-Books

The Bitter Soliloquery of a Lesser Poet
(Taking Himself into a Corner by the Ear)

Tinkling poet, with your lays
Nicely turned for people’s praise;
With your moldy little rhymes,
They have heard a thousand times;
Wingless “songs” that tug and pant,
Airy as an elephant;
Sonnets stiff in all their joints,
Spurred by exclamation points; —
To one question pray reply,
Just one only; that is—WHY?
Has the suffering soul of man,
Since your mild “career” began,
Ever had a drop of balm
From your doleful little psalm?
Has the eager thought of youth
Gleaned from you one grain of truth?
Has the heart of human care
Leaned on you, or learned to bear?
Do you write for ducats yellow?
For the girls to say, “dear fellow?”
In some circle quite retired
Are you “very much admired?”
Tinkle, tinkle, little star !
How I wonder why you are;
Up above the world so high,
Tinkling,—how I wonder WHY?

— Anthony Morehead (Century Magazine, 1886)

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