"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce, <br /> "Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet. <br /> Through all the flimsy things we see at once <br /> As easily as through a Naples bonnet- <br /> Trash of all trash!- how can a lady don it? <br /> Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff- <br /> Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff <br /> Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it." <br /> And, veritably, Sol is right enough. <br /> The general tuckermanities are arrant <br /> Bubbles- ephemeral and so transparent- <br /> But this is, now- you may depend upon it- <br /> Stable, opaque, immortal- all by dint <br /> Of the dear names that he concealed within 't.<br /><br />Edgar Allan Poe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/an-enigma/
