After Writing my Dramatic Review by Théophile Gautier

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My columns are ranged and steady, / Upbearing, though sad forespent, / The newspaper pediment, / And my review is ready.

Now for a week, poetaster, / My door is bolted. Away, / Thou still-born masterpiece, -- aye, / Till Monday I am my master.

No melodrama shall whiten / My labour with threadbare leaves. / The warp that my fancy weaves / With silken flowers shall brighten.

Brief moment my spirit's warder, / Ye voices of soul that float, / I'll hearken your sorrow's note, / Nor verses evoke to order.

Then deep in my glass regaining / The health of a day gone by, -- / Old visions for company -- / The bloom of my vintage draining,

The wine of my thought I'll measure, / Wine virgin of alien glow, / Grapes trodden by life, that flow / From my heart at my heart's own pleasure!

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