Classic Poem

If some seem slighter sonnets and less strong
Remember, reader, that each plays its part
In building stone by stone the house of Art,—
Each is one note in a continuous song,
And, were each equal, each the whole would wrong:—
When midsummer is gay with butterflies
Some flaunt blue wings as azure as the skies,
Some red, some yellow,—motley is the throng.

And so with sonnets;—if the whole be fair,
Blame not one sonnet in that whiter wings
It waved than those its golden sister brings:
Contrast is good,—and leisure to compare:
Each with its own voice in the chorus sings;
Each to my Lady a long-lost gift doth bear.