Another

Thomas Lovell Beddoes

 Next Poem          

Tis a moon-tinted primrose, with a well
Of trembling dew; in its soft atmosphere,
A tiny whirlwind of sweet smells, doth swell
A lady bird; and when no sound is near
That elfin hermit fans the fairy bell
With glazen wings, (mirrors on which appear
Atoms of colours that flizz by unseen
And struts about his darling flower with pride.
But, if some buzzing gnat with pettish spleen
Come whining by, the insect ‘gins to hide
And folds its flimsy drapery between
His speckled buckler and soft silken side.
So poets fly the critics snappish heat,
And sheath their minds in scorn and self-conceit

Next Poem 

 Back to Thomas Lovell Beddoes
Get a free collection of Classic Poetry ↓

Receive the ebook in seconds 50 poems from 50 different authors


To be able to leave a comment here you must be registered. Log in or Sign up.