A TEMPEST in a teapot stands, one knows,
For noisy nothing in the realms of prose.
But what _is_ that to the prodigious pother
When Minor Poets pulverise each other?
"Birds in their little nests agree,"--all right!
_Bards_ in their little books fall out and fight.
The birds of which the pious rhymster sings
Sure were not "singing birds"--those angry things!
Who prune themselves and peck each other frightfully.
Alas that warblers should contend so spitefully.
All--save the cynic--mourn the Muse's loss,
When GOSSE snubs GALE, or GALE be-blizzards GOSSE!
* * * * *