A PLEA TO THE EXCHEQUER.
Less gifted souls may seek an earthly mate;
Lonely for ever I am doomed to be,
For all my life to Art is dedicate;
Yea, Art for mine or (speaking English) me.
I've put away the commonplace delights
Of humbler folk to brood on things sublime;
Rapt and aloof I ever tread the heights,
Thinking great thoughts and getting words to rhyme.
Maidens have passed before me, but no bride