"Preludes drip from your pale slim fingers, Chopin, Do play once more that stirring polonaise. There, Liszt, do you not feelyou stupid moron The fire it has? (To give the ass due praise.) Light me another cigarette, moi Frederic, And thrill us with your restless Waltz Caprice, (I should be busy writing books immortal Not wasting time on worthless fools like these.)" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MOTHERHOOD by CHARLES STUART CALVERLEY TETHYS' FESTIVAL: SHADOWS by SAMUEL DANIEL LALLA ROOKH: PARADISE AND THE PERI by THOMAS MOORE HEAVEN by NANCY WOODBURY PRIEST IN AN OLD CEMETERY by LILLAH A. ASHLEY GREENES FUNERALLS: SONNET 11 by RICHARD BARNFIELD TO THE OBELISK DURING THE GREAT FROST, 1881 by MATHILDE BLIND |