English poem
Sonnet
by H. Cholmondeley-Pennell (1837–1915)
TO HIMSELF.
FF! off! thou art an ass, thou art
an ass,
"Thou man of endless words and
little sense,
"Of pigmy powers and conceit im--
mense--
"Thou art a Donkey!
Take a bit of grass?"
Oh, Martin! Oh, my Tupper! thus exclaims
A groveling Age, grown envious of thy fames,--
Thy boundless sonnets, and Proverbial bays:
Blest Silence! lovéd Silence! thou art Heavn!--
(See my remarks in "Sonnet 47")--
Yet will I breathe my pleasant Poems forth
Innumerable. Hundreds more--ay tens
Of thousands! Sweet etherial rhymes,
I hold ye here! and hug ye--all the lot;--
A monstrous pile of quintessential rot!!