EPILOGUE.
227
His strong with his sweet (you suppose) and blends
His rough with his smooth, till none can know
How it comes you may tipple, nothing loth,
Body and bouquet both.
His rough with his smooth, till none can know
How it comes you may tipple, nothing loth,
Body and bouquet both.
7.
"You" being just—the world.
No poets—who turn, themselves, the winch
Of the press; no critics—I'll even say,
(I am flustered and easy of faith, to-day)
Who for love of the work have learned the way
Till themselves produce home-made, at a pinch:
No! You are the world, and wine ne'er purled
Except to please the world!
"You" being just—the world.
No poets—who turn, themselves, the winch
Of the press; no critics—I'll even say,
(I am flustered and easy of faith, to-day)
Who for love of the work have learned the way
Till themselves produce home-made, at a pinch:
No! You are the world, and wine ne'er purled
Except to please the world!
