To A Youy
DEAR fellow-artist, why so free
With every sort of pany,
With every Jad Jill?
Choose your panions from the best;
Who draws a bucket with the rest
Soon topples down the hill.
You may, that mirror for a school,
Be passionate, not bountiful
As oies may,
Who were not born to keep in trim
With old Ezekiels cherubim
But those of Beauvarlet.
I know what wages beauty gives,
How hard a life her setvant lives,
Yet praise the winters gone:
There is not a fool call me friend,
And I may di journeys end
With Landor and with Donne.
(ò﹏ò)
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谢谢!!!