Wordsworst

Received this today from Mr Mitchell, a clever parody of a Wordsworthian sonnet. Alas, Wordsworth, at his worst (as with Coleridge) could write some of the most intolerable tripe. Those preening to say the same of this blog are politely advised to piss off. ;-)

A Sonnet

Two voices are there: one is of the deep;
It learns the storm-cloud's thunderous melody,
Now roars, now murmurs with the changing sea,
Now bird-like pipes, now closes soft in sleep:
And one is of an old half-witted sheep
Which bleats articulate monotony,
And indicates that two and one are three,
That grass is green, lakes damp, and mountains steep:
And, Wordsworth, both are thine: at certain times
Forth from the heart of thy melodious rhymes,
The form and pressure of high thoughts will burst:
At other times - good Lord! I'd rather be
Quite unacquainted with the ABCs
Than write such hopeless rubbish as thy worst.

--- J.K. Stephen

[just in case you're curious, the sonnet is an imitation of Wordsworth's "Thought of a Briton on the Subjugation of Switzerland," from his "Sonnets Dedicated to Liberty" from Poems in Two Volumes (1807)]