DEAR fellow-artist, why so free
Yet praise the winters gone:
But those of Beauvarlet.
There is not a fool can callme friend,
To A Young Beauty
And I may dine at journeys end
Who draws a bucket with the rest
With old Ezekiels cherubim
Soon topples down the hill.
You may, that mirror for a school,
How hard a life her setvant lives,
Be passionate, not bountiful
Who were not born to keepin trim
With Landor and with Donne.
I know what wages beauty gives,
As common beauties may,
Choose your companions from the best;
With every sort of company,
With every Jack and Jill?
