TO her, for I must still regard her As feminine in her degree, Who has been my unkind bombarder Year after year, in grief and glee, Year after year with oaken tree; And yet between whiles my laudator In terms astonishing to me -- To the Right Reverend The Spectator I here, a humble dedicator, Bring the last apples from my tree. In tones of love, in tones of warning, She hailed me through my brief career; And kiss and buffet, night and morning, Told me my grandmamma was near; Whether she praised me high and clear Through her unrivalled circulation, Or, sanctimonious insincere, She damned me with a misquotation -- A chequered but a sweet relation, Say, was it not, my granny dear? Believe me, granny, altogether Yours, though perhaps to your surprise. Oft have you spruced my wounded feather, Oft brought a light into my eyes -- For notice still the writer cries. In any civil age or nation, The book that is not talked of dies. So that shall be my termination: Whether in praise or execration, Still, if you love me, criticise! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AFTER PARTING by SARA TEASDALE WIDOW MALONE by CHARLES JAMES LEVER CRITICS AND CONNOISSEURS by MARIANNE MOORE TO ONE SHORTLY TO DIE by WALT WHITMAN GOLDEN HILL by HAMILTON FISH ARMSTRONG PEARLS OF THE FAITH: 88. AL-MUGHNI by EDWIN ARNOLD MR. PETER'S STORY: THE BAGMAN'S DOG by RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM |