Dear architect of fine chateaux in air;
Worthier to stand for ever, if they could,
Than any built in stone, or yet of wood,
For back of royal elephant to bear!
Oh for permission from the skies to share
Much to my own though little to thy good
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood)
A partnership of literary ware!
Presumptuous wish! presumptuous thought begone!
I have no stock to trade with, merit none
Contented still in borrow’d light to shine
The light be yours; and I —