I tried to put my brazen ears aside, undo
My raucous listening, and even gargoyled
My face into a Collected Lord Tennyson,
Yet kept on feeling combustible and royled.
I wrote a score of learned annotations
With academic but shaky hand in the margin,
But Victorian poetry seemed awfully dead,
And for all its classic front spoke pidgin.
Document URL: http://www.english.upenn.edu/~afilreis/88/dejong-commuter.html
Last modified: Wednesday, 18-Jul-2007 16:25:35 EDT