Читать книгу Perverted Proverbs: A Manual of Immorals for the Many - Graham Harry - Страница 1

Do you recall those bygone days,

When you received with kindly praise

My bantling book of Rhyme?

Praise undeserved, alas! and yet

How sweet! For, tho' we had not met,

(Ah! what a waste of time!)

I could the more enjoy such mercies

Since I delighted in your verses.

And when a Poet stoops to smile

On some one of the rank and file,

(Inglorious – if not mute,)

Some groundling bard who craves to climb,

Like me, the dizzy rungs of Rhyme,

To reach the Golden Fruit;

For one in such a situation

The faintest praise is no damnation.

Parnassus heights must surely pall;

For simpler diet do you call,

Of nectar growing tired?

These verses to your feet I bring,

Drawn from an unassuming spring,

Well-meant – if not inspired;

O charming Poet's charming daughter,

Descend and taste my toast and water!

For you alone these lines I write,

That, reading them, your brow may light

Beneath its crown of bays;

Your eyes may sparkle like a star,

With friendship, that is dearer far

Than any breath of praise;

The which a lucky man possessing

Can ask no higher human blessing.

And, though the "salt estranging sea"

Be widely spread 'twixt you and me,

We have what makes amends;

And since I am so glad of you,

Be glad of me a little, too,

Because of being friends.

And, if I earn your approbation,

Accept my humble dedication.