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"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.
-Edgar Allen Poe, An Enigma.
Am I posting my favourite poem, or trashing others? The world may never know...
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I wake up in the morning more tired than before I slept
I get through cryin' and I'm sadder than before I wept
I get through thinkin' now, and the thoughts have left my head
I get through speakin' and I can't remember, not a word that I said
- Ben Harper, Show Me A Little Shame
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