It may be you are jealous of
The diction of my verse,
As strikes your ear a something gruff,
Words’ friction grating worse
Than your tones’ mellifluity
Haphazard as my own: but we
Diverge in sense and thought.
Let time discern—if man survive—
Which verse stands truest then:
If I have failed, as years arrive,
The mockery of men
Will weigh more heavily than yours
So deftly leveled now,
But protest coming with such force
Seems like to kill a cow.
Friend, let me, even as I prate,
Not caterwaul your verse
Or use such words to denigrate—
Indeed mine may be worse—
But rather praise that little wit
I see as makes me chuckle:
Your harsh pride wants me to submit
Who’s not inclined to truckle.