Incipit
The State of Poetry By H. P. Lovecraft. “Non bene junctarem discordia semina rerum” - Ovid. Attend, ye modern bards, who dimly shine As worthy scions of Mac Flecknoe’s line! Though scarce on Heliconian heights to gleam, To one still clumsier ye supply a theme: As meagre stalk from sterile garden climbs, So springs my trash from your Boeotian rhymes. In state establish’d on the Dunce’s throne, Hear infant Codrus with the colic moan. His dreary wail no hint of sense conveys, But critics hide their ignorance in praise. Hard by the King, the pale-fac’d Raucus stands, A ream of witles …
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