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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396922" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Point Of Taste</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><a href="http://www.citatepedia.com/comments.php?id=396922" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none">Unhappy poets of a sunken prime!<br>You to reviewers are as ball to bat.<br>They shadow you with Homer, knock you flat<br>With Shakespeare: bludgeons brainingly sublime<br>On you the excommunicates of Rhyme,<br>Because you sing not in the living Fat.<br>The wiry whizz of an intrusive gnat<br>Is verse that shuns their self-producing time.<br>Sound them their clocks, with loud alarum trump,<br>Or watches ticking temporal at their fobs,<br>You win their pleased attention. But, bright God<br>O' the lyre, what bully-drawlers they applaud!<br>Rather for us a tavern-catch, and bump<br>Chorus where Lumpkin with his Giles hobnobs.</a></div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><a href="http://poems.citatepedia.com/">poem</a> by <strong><a rel="author" href="http://authors.citatepedia.com/by.php?a=George+Meredith">George Meredith</a></strong></div>

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