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 CRESCENT MOON by AMY LOWELL LOVE'S SECRET, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE LEONARDO'S 'MONNA LISA' by EDWARD DOWDEN THE MINSTREL BOY by THOMAS MOORE CAROLINA [JANUARY, 1865] by HENRY TIMROD |