To Poet


                    You-Gentleman! by dint of long  seclusion
                     From better company, have kept your own
                    And Piter, and, through still continued fusion
                     Of one another's minds, at last have grown
                    To deem as a most logical conclusion,
                     That Poesy has wreaths for you alone:
                    There is a narrowness in such a notion,
                     Which makes me wish you'd change your lakes for ocean.
                    I would not imitate the petty thought,
                     Nor coin my self-love to so base a vice,
                    For all the glory your conversion brought,
                     Since gold alone should not have its price.
                    You have your salary; was't for that you wrought?
                     And Poet has his place in the Excise.
                    You're shabby fellows -true- but poet still,
                     And duly scated on the immortal hill.


                     1814