When Harry asks, I can't decline
To brand these mavericks of mine.
(Alas! I know they are but veal!)
He little recks the pangs I feel
To see the Critic's smile malign:

" Ah! Deckel edge! " he'll say; " How fine! "
Then shiver at some limping line.
What lies he'll tell, what leers conceal,
When Harry asks.

But yet how foolish to repine!
How oft with borrowed light we shine,
Our worth imputed, blunders real,
Our merit that our friends are leal.
And so with grateful heart I sign,
When Harry asks.