An Enigma
An Enigma
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnetTrash
of all trash!- how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuffOwl-
downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it."
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
The general tuckermanities are arrant
Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent
But this is, now- you may depend upon itStable,
opaque, immortal- all by dint
Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnetTrash
of all trash!- how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuffOwl-
downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it."
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
The general tuckermanities are arrant
Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent
But this is, now- you may depend upon itStable,
opaque, immortal- all by dint
Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.