MY familiar ghost again Comes to see what he can see, Critic, son of Conscious Brain, Spying on our privacy. Slam the window, bolt the door, Yet he'll enter in and stay; In tomorrow's book he'll score Indiscretions of today. Whispered love and muttered fears, How their echoes fly about! None escape his watchful ears, Every sigh might be a shout. No kind words nor angry cries Turn away this grim spoilsport; No fine lady's pleading eyes, Neither love, nor hate, nor port. Critic wears no smile of fun, Speaks no word of blame nor praise, Counts our kisses one by one, Notes each gesture, every phrase. My familiar ghost again Stands or squats where suits him best; Critic, son of Conscious Brain, Listens, watches, takes no rest. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SCHOOLBOYS IN WINTER by JOHN CLARE BRONX, 1818 by JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE THE SURRENDER AT APPOMATTOX [APRIL 9, 1865] by HERMAN MELVILLE DAYS OF THE MONTH by MOTHER GOOSE FRAGMENT by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM TO HIS DEAR FRIEND THOMAS RANDOLPH, ON HIS COMEDY 'THE JEALOUS LOVERS' by RICHARD BENEFIELD |