Explore "An Art Critic" by Ambrose Bierce on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Ira P. Rankin, you've a nasal name -- / I'll sound it through "the speaking-trump of fame," / And wondering nations, hearing from afar / The brazen twang of its resounding jar, / Shall say: "These bards are an uncommon class -- / They blow their noses with a tube of brass!" / Rankin! ye gods! if Influenza pick / Our names at christening, and such names stick, / Let's all be born when summer suns withstand / Her prevalence and chase her from the land, / And healing breezes generously help / To shield from death each ailing human whelp! / "What's in a name?" There's much at least in yours / That the pained ear unwillingly endures, / And much to make the suffering soul, I fear, / Envy the lesser anguish of the ear.
So you object to Cytherea! Do, / The picture was not painted, sir, for you! / "Your" mind to gratify and taste address, / The masking dove had been a dove the less.
Provincial censor! all untaught in art, / With mind indecent and indecent heart, / Do you not know -- nay, why should I explain? / Instruction, argument alike were vain -- / I'll show you reasons when you show me brain.