WHEN Thurlow this damn'd nonsense sent (I hope I am not violent), Nor men nor gods knew what he meant. And since not even our Rogers' praise To common sense his thoughts could raise -- Why would they let him print his lays? To me, divine Apollo, grant -- O! Hermilda's first and second canto, I'm fitting up a new portmanteau; And thus to furnish decent lining, My own and others' bays I'm twining -- So, gentle Thurlow, throw me thine in. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE SHAPE OF THE CORONER by WALLACE STEVENS MADEIRA FROM THE SEA by SARA TEASDALE THE POET by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR THE WORLD by FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER PROMETHEUS by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL IN AN ARTIST'S STUDIO by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI IMPRESSIONS: LES SILHOUETTES by OSCAR WILDE A LAMENT FOR PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY by WILLIAM EDMONSTOUNE AYTOUN |