Swift was sweet on Stella;
Poe had his Lenore;
Burns' fancy turned to Nancy
And a dozen more.
Poe was quite a trifler;
Goldsmith was a case;
Byron'd flirt with any skirt
From Liverpool to Thrace.
Sheridan philandered;
Shelley, Keats, and Moore
All were there with some affair
Far from lit'rachoor.
Fickle is the heart of
Each immortal bard.
Mine alone is made of stone-
Gotta work too hard.
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Comments
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I like this poem, it has a sense of wit and also a sense of culture about it. I especially like the last stanza, turning this into more of a serious poem about his work. This is the first poem I've read of his and I like his style
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I like how this poet used his knowledge of other poems and poets to create a work of his own. He made it seem like he was almost mocking them or making fun of them and yet he calls them immortal.
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