194
what's o'clock
I hold apart and I too smile,
Bitterly, if you will have it so; but while
I wonder you should laud me for a minute,
I wonder more by what strange finger-rule
You find your praise so easy to be spilt—
The brimful ease of it your chief of poses.
Am I the creature you have swiftly built
Since yesterday, who, formerly, for all you thought,
Printed too light a circle even to round a naught?
Or am I what you'll have me by to-morrow?
There's worry to keep me busy dabbling in it,
And pricks enough to start a pretty sorrow.
Bitterly, if you will have it so; but while
I wonder you should laud me for a minute,
I wonder more by what strange finger-rule
You find your praise so easy to be spilt—
The brimful ease of it your chief of poses.
Am I the creature you have swiftly built
Since yesterday, who, formerly, for all you thought,
Printed too light a circle even to round a naught?
Or am I what you'll have me by to-morrow?
There's worry to keep me busy dabbling in it,
And pricks enough to start a pretty sorrow.
Don't think, you polype blur of friendliness,
That any attitude you choose to take
Affects me otherwise than so much less
Than atom's atom. Scarcely for your sake
Would I consent even to notice where
You seem most thickly to invest the air,
That any attitude you choose to take
Affects me otherwise than so much less
Than atom's atom. Scarcely for your sake
Would I consent even to notice where
You seem most thickly to invest the air,
