To a Detractor

​
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
    Carefully studied—not
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.