In the moonlight, in the quiet evening,
You will rise and croak and fly away;
Oh, you have sat and listened till you're wild for flight
(And that's all right)
But you have never criticised a single song
(And that's all wrong)
Lo, would you add despair unto despair?
Do you not care
That all these lesser children of the Muse
Shall sing to you exactly as they choose?