THE STUDENT AND HIS PRELECTORS
THEY cried: ‘Who learns the Truth is blest’;
And forthwith gave him little tags
Of scholarship, and quickly dressed
The wonder of the world in rags.
THE OPERAS OF MOZART
WE see no painted thing, no foolish play,
Under the spell of his fastidious strings:
The Magic Flute pipes from the Milky Way,
Juan is deathless, Figaro has wings.
TO AN INDIFFERENT POET
YOU say the critic is a parasite:
’Tis not for such as you to scowl him down:
Only to point the way to Heart’s Delight
Is better than making roads to No Man’s Town.
R. L. STEVENSON
GOOD company for vagabonds or saints,
He wrought our joy out of his miseries;
Coloured our dreams with a child’s box of paints;
Conquered the world with that toy sword of his.