Читать книгу The Rivet in Grandfather's Neck - James Branch Cabell - Страница 4

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"A singer, eh? … Well, well! but when he sings Take jealous heed lest idiosyncrasies Entinge and taint too deep his melodies; See that his lute has no discordant strings To harrow us; and let his vaporings Be all of virtue and its victories, And of man's best and noblest qualities, And scenery, and flowers, and similar things.

"Thus bid our paymasters whose mutterings

Some few deride, and blithely link their rhymes

At random; and, as ever, on frail wings

Of wine-stained paper scribbled with such rhymes

Men mount to heaven, and loud laughter springs

From hell's midpit, whose fuel is such rhymes."

PAUL VERVILLE. Nascitur.