Upon Reading a Wonderful Old Poem  (And being preemptively outraged with what I suspect the critics might dare to say about it)

A poem I discovered yesterday
That truly spoke of beauty and its pain.
Of it I don’t care what the critics say
Who as aesthetic scientists explain
Which couplets have too ‘melodramatic’ a strain.

But even if the heathen critics laugh,
That letter from my sister in the past
With words as coloured glass of fine-cut craft,
Has come to harbour, ‘cross time’s ocean vast
In me — for she to them did not the pearl cast.



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