And mists and things obscure the rhymer’s brain
And dull his ears, and cloud his blinking eyes.
And so we write as Nature sets her gauge—
No worse than most, and better, p’raps, than some,
But should a man remain for ever dumb
When only rhythm fills his aimless page?
[198]
]YOUR LEVEL BEST.
When you stand within Life’s limelight to declaim your little piece—
Let your hearers chip and chivvy as they may—
And you go on nigh despairing, ’neath your mummer-paint and grease,