Incipit
How dull the wretch, whose philosophic mind Disdains the pleasures of fantastic kind; Whose prosy thoughts the joys of life exclude, And wreck the solace of the poet’s mood! Young Zeno, practis’d in the Stoic’s art, Rejects the language of the glowing heart; Dissolves sweet Nature to a mess of laws; Condemns th’ effect whilst looking for the cause; Freezes poor Ovid in an iced review, And sneers because his fables are untrue! In search of hope the hopeful zealot goes, But all the sadder tums, the more he knows! Stay! Vandal sophist, whose deep lore would blast The grateful legends …
311 mots · Poésie · texte intégral sur Wikisource.
Version transcrite — source non identifiée, 1917. (Le numéro dont Wikisource donne le texte ; ce n’est pas toujours la première parution.)
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