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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342794" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>For A Certain Critic</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let lowly themes engage my humble pen<br>Stupidities of critics, not of men.<br>Be it mine once more the maunderings to trace<br>Of the expounders' self-directed race<br>Their wire-drawn fancies, finically fine,<br>Of diligent vacuity the sign.<br>Let them in jargon of their trade rehearse<br>The moral meaning of the random verse<br>That runs spontaneous from the poet's pen<br>To be half-blotted by ambitious men<br>Who hope with his their meaner names to link<br>By writing o'er it in another ink<br>The thoughts unreal which they think they think,<br>Until the mental eye in vain inspects<br>The hateful palimpsest to find the text.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The lark ascending heavenward, loud and long<br>Sings to the dawning day his wanton song.<br>The moaning dove, attentive to the sound,<br>Its hidden meaning hastens to expound:<br>Explains its principles, design-in brief,<br>Pronounces it a parable of grief!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The bee, just pausing ere he daubs his thigh<br>With pollen from a hollyhock near by,<br>Declares he never heard in terms so just<br>The labor problem thoughtfully discussed!<br>The browsing ass looks up and clears his whistle<br>To say: 'A monologue upon the thistle!'<br>Meanwhile the lark, descending, folds his wing<br>And innocently asks: 'What!-did I sing?'</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O literary parasites! who thrive<br>Upon the fame of better men, derive<br>Your sustenance by suction, like a leech,<br>And, for you preach of them, think masters preach,<br>Who find it half is profit, half delight,<br>To write about what you could never write,<br>Consider, pray, how sharp had been the throes<br>Of famine and discomfiture in those<br>You write of if they had been critics, too,<br>And doomed to write of nothing but of you!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Lo! where the gaping crowd throngs yonder tent,<br>To see the lion resolutely bent!<br>The prosing showman who the beast displays<br>Grows rich and richer daily in its praise.<br>But how if, to attract the curious yeoman,<br>The lion owned the show and showed the showman?</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ambrose+Bierce">Ambrose Bierce</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=342794" data-title="For A Certain Critic de Ambrose Bierce" data-description="Let lowly themes engage my humble pen
Stupidities of critics, not of men.
Be it mine once more the maunderings to trace
Of the expounders' self-directed race
Their wire-drawn fancies, finically fine,
Of diligent vacuity the sign.
Let them in jargo..."></div>
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