An Enigma

 "Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, 
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
 
Through all the flimsy things we see at once 
As easily as through a Naples bonnet- 
Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it? 
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff- 
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff 
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it.
" 
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
 
The general tuckermanities are arrant 
Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent- 
But this is, now- you may depend upon it- 
Stable, opaque, immortal- all by dint 
Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.

Biography | Poems | Best Poems | Short Poems | Quotes | Email Poem |

Poems are below...