by Edgar Allan Poe
"Seldom we find," says Solomon Don Dunce,
"Half an idea in the profoundest sonnet.
Through all the flimsy things we see at once
As easily as through a Naples bonnet --
Trash of all trash! how can a lady don it?
Yet heavier far than your Petrarchan stuff,
Owl-downy nonsense that the faintest puff
Twirls into trunk-paper the while you con it"
And, veritably, Sol is right enough.
The general tuckermanities are arrant
Bubbles, ephemeral and so transparent;
But this is, now, you may depend upon it,
Stable, opaque, immortal -- all by dint
Of the dear names that lie concealed within 't.
Source:The Works Of Edgar Allan Poe
Volume 10: Poems
Stone & Kimball, Chicago