Donne
Scholastic Donne!
Acme of self-conceit,
The Phaeton of Poets! one
To whom distinct concern was counterfeit,
At first thy song made me feel sick at heart,
Plaited with not a line of Goethe's art.
Perplexing Donne!
The enemy of a strait road,
To whom the honest sun
Must have as a traitor showed,
I learned to love thee soon,
Pleased with the subtle tune.
Heady yet wise!
As far as thy blind scrannel goes
Not to be imitated,
Searching, with thy deep eyes,
Thoughts that by no one have been said
Except thyself; the dies
For thy rich coin no later Muse bestows.
Acme of self-conceit,
The Phaeton of Poets! one
To whom distinct concern was counterfeit,
At first thy song made me feel sick at heart,
Plaited with not a line of Goethe's art.
Perplexing Donne!
The enemy of a strait road,
To whom the honest sun
Must have as a traitor showed,
I learned to love thee soon,
Pleased with the subtle tune.
Heady yet wise!
As far as thy blind scrannel goes
Not to be imitated,
Searching, with thy deep eyes,
Thoughts that by no one have been said
Except thyself; the dies
For thy rich coin no later Muse bestows.
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