Ok, that's fine... I shall do my best to satisfy you on
all the possible counts simultaneously then. Hope you enjoy it
(for Bluemonday when you get round to reading this thread too)
Subtleties the poet could never dream
Can be inserted thence into his work;
Or with what sense did Avon's brimming stream
Dredge down such silt of academic murk
From the bowels of a factory-festered land?
Now vile adulterations can be grown
For those to feed who cannot understand
From the greasy leaves of a well thumbed tome.
Why so? 'Twas nature - subtle, to be sure,
Irridescent, mighty salmon's leaping;
Sweet, as mountain waters far fom shore,
But dammed too long and brackish from its keeping.
I fear that this must always be the same:
The root of beauty circumsised by fame.