A Century of Parody and Imitation

by Unknown

A SONNET.

(WORDSWORTH)

Two voices are there: one is of the deep;

It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody,

Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,

Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep:

And one is of an old half-witted sheep

Which bleats articulate monotony,

And indicates that two and one are three,

That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep:

And, Wordsworth, both are thine: at certain times

Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes,

The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst:

At other times—good Lord! I'd rather be

Quite unacquainted with the ABC

Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst.