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Still it pleads and rankles: 'Why do you love me?'
Replies then jammed me dumb; but now I speak,
Singing why each should not the other seek—
The octet will be weaker—in the fishful sea.
Your friends I don't like all, and poetry
You less than music stir to, the blue streak
Troubles me you drink: if all these are weak
Objections, they are all, and all I foresee.

Your choice, though!...  Who no Goliath has slung low,
When one day rushing about your lawn you saw
Him whom I might not name without some awe
If curious Johnson should enquire below,
'Who lifts this voice harsh, fresh, and beautiful?'
—'As thy soul liveth, O king, I cannot tell.'


Submitted by Holt

Added: 1 Mar 2004 | Last Read: 8 Sep 2008 2:55 AM | Viewed: 1468 times

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