TO her, for I must still regard her <br />As feminine in her degree, <br />Who has been my unkind bombarder <br />Year after year, in grief and glee, <br />Year after year, with oaken tree; <br />And yet betweenwhiles my laudator <br />In terms astonishing to me - <br />To the Right Reverend The Spectator <br />I here, a humble dedicator, <br />Bring the last apples from my tree. <br /> <br />In tones of love, in tones of warning, <br />She hailed me through my brief career; <br />And kiss and buffet, night and morning, <br />Told me my grandmamma was near; <br />Whether she praised me high and clear <br />Through her unrivalled circulation, <br />Or, sanctimonious insincere, <br />She damned me with a misquotation - <br />A chequered but a sweet relation, <br />Say, was it not, my granny dear? <br /> <br />Believe me, granny, altogether <br />Yours, though perhaps to your surprise. <br />Oft have you spruced my wounded feather, <br />Oft brought a light into my eyes - <br />For notice still the writer cries. <br />In any civil age or nation, <br />The book that is not talked of dies. <br />So that shall be my termination: <br />Whether in praise or execration, <br />Still, if you love me, criticise!<br /><br />Robert Louis Stevenson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/dedicatory-poem-for-underwoods/
