To a Critic

What if he only strove to catch The measure of old melodies? What if he only raised the latch That opes the way to the retreat Of fantasies and harmonies, The crew that man the Muse's fleet?

What harm was there? He pleased himself And wronged no man in any wise; He sang not for renown nor pelf, But softly, gently, as one may Who in the midst of sorrow tries By song to drive the pain away.