Epitaph for George Moore
On one who thought no other could write such English as himself
‘No mortal man beneath the sky
Can write such English as can I
They say it holds no thought my own
What then, such beauty (perfection) is not known.’
Heap dustbins on him:
They'll not meet
The apex of his self conceit.
‘No mortal man beneath the sky
Can write such English as can I
They say it holds no thought my own
What then, such beauty (perfection) is not known.’
Heap dustbins on him:
They'll not meet
The apex of his self conceit.
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