Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
A Criticism of Critics
How often have the critics, trained
To look upon the sky
Through telescopes securely chained,
Forgot the naked eye.
Within the compass of their glass
Each smallest star they knew,
And not a meteor could pass
But they were looking through.
When a new planet shed its rays
Beyond their field of vision,
And simple folk ran out to gaze,
They laughed in high derision.
They railed upon the senseless throng
Who cheered the brave new light.
And yet the learned men were wrong,
The simple folk were right.
poem
by
Robert Fuller Murray
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black