The Critics Poem by Joseph Skipsey
The Critics
I LIKE the darling critics—like?
O, how upon their work I linger,
When they their weapons use to strike,
Not me, but some less happy singer.
The treasure of their venom-bags
So finely on the bard's expended,
One half-forgets the little wags
Were from a scorpion-race descended!
Thursday, September 11, 2014
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