Do you recall those bygone days,
When you received with kindly praise
My bantling book of Rhyme?
Praise undeserved, alas! and yet
How sweet! For, tho’ we had not met,
( Ah! what a waste of time! )
I could the more enjoy such mercies
Since I delighted in your verses.
And when a Poet stoops to smile
On some one of the rank and file,
( Inglorious — if not mute,)
Some groundling bard who craves to climb,
Like me, the dizzy rungs of Rhyme,
To reach the Golden Fruit;
For one in such a situation
The faintest praise is no damnation.
Parnassus heights must surely pall;
For simpler diet do you call,
Of nectar growing tired?
These verses to your feet I bring,
Drawn from an unassuming spring,
Well-meant — if not inspired;
O charming Poet's charming daughter,
Descend and taste my toast and water!
For you alone these lines I write,
That, reading them, your brow may light
Beneath its crown of bays;
Your eyes may sparkle like a star,
With friendship, that is dearer far
Than any breath of praise;
The which a lucky man possessing
Can ask no higher human blessing.
And, though the “salt estranging sea”
Be widely spread‘ twixt you and me,
We have what makes amends;
And since I am so glad of you,
Be glad of me a little, too,
Because of being friends.
And, if I earn your approbation,
Accept my humble dedication.