To a Critic
HOLD this sea-shell to your ear,
And you shall hear
Not the andante of the sea,
Not the wild wind’s symphony,
But your own heart’s minstrelsy.
And you shall hear
Not the andante of the sea,
Not the wild wind’s symphony,
But your own heart’s minstrelsy.
You do poets and their song
A grievous wrong,
If your own heart does not bring
To their deep imagining
As much beauty as they sing.
A grievous wrong,
If your own heart does not bring
To their deep imagining
As much beauty as they sing.
T. B. Aldrich.