O you chorus of indolent reviewers, <br /> Irresponsible, indolent reviewers, <br /> Look, I come to the test, a tiny poem <br /> All composed in a metre of Catullus, <br /> All in quantity, careful of my motion, <br /> Like the skater on ice that hardly bears him, <br /> Lest I fall unawares before the people, <br /> Waking laughter in indolent reviewers. <br /> Should I flounder awhile without a tumble <br /> Thro' this metrification of Catullus, <br /> They should speak to me not without a welcome, <br /> All that chorus of indolent reviewers. <br /> Hard, hard, hard it is, only not to tumble, <br /> So fantastical is the dainty meter. <br /> Wherefore slight me not wholly, nor believe me <br /> Too presumptuous, indolent reviewers. <br /> O blatant Magazines, regard me rather - <br /> Since I blush to belaud myself a moment - <br /> As some rare little rose, a piece of inmost <br /> Horticultural art, or half-coquette-like <br /> Maiden, not to be greeted unbenignly.<br /><br />Alfred Lord Tennyson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/hendecasyllabics/
