Literary Squabbles

av Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

Håndgemeng under et spill, av Gaspare Traversi.


Ah God! the petty fools of rhyme

That shriek and sweat in pigmy wars

Before the stony face of Time,

And look’d at by the silent stars;


Who hate each other for a song,

And do their little best to bite

And pinch their brethren in the throng,

And scratch the very dead for spite;


And strain to make an inch of room

For their sweet selves, and cannot hear

The sullen Lethe rolling doom

On them and theirs and all things here;


When one small touch of Charity

Could lift them nearer Godlike state

Than if the crowded Orb should cry

Like those who cried Diana great.


And I too talk, and lose the touch

I talk of. Surely, after all,

The noblest answer unto such

Is perfect stillness when they brawl.

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