My critic Stokes objects to abstract thoughts;
“Call a man John, a woman, Joan,” says he,
“And do not prate so of humanities;”
Whereat I call my critic simply Stokes.
My critic Johnson recommends more mirth,
Because a cheerful genius suits the times,
And all true poets laugh unquenchably,
Like Shakespeare and the gods. That’s very hard.
The gods may laugh, and Shakespeare; Dante smiled
With such a needy heart on two pale lips,