Classic Poem

Pardon me, all ye birds that float at ease,
That I begrudged your fleet aërial joys;
And thou, poor Partlet! and ye little bees,
That hum and hover with a pleasant noise
About your homes of honey! 'twas a spirt
Of spleen—a peevish murmur of disease,
And not a measured curse to do you hurt:
And thou! who for a moment did'st displease,
Commission'd to rebuke my pride, and spring
Thy tiny pennons on me unaware;
Thy smart and sudden lesson was the thing
I needed.—Thou art gone I know not where!
But I have seen, beside my gouty chair,
A chiding angel, of the smallest wing.