It was a spark of brilliant wit
My heart inflammable did flit
It fired my fancy, turned my brain
I ne’er shall be myself again.
Hobgoblins fly about my bed
And imps and fairies fill my head
Sometimes I wake in frights and fears
Sweet music’s sounding in my ears
And think I see the forms divine
Of Hesiod and the tuneful Nine
Then doze again, I in my dream
Fair Tinderella’s self I seem
And vainly strive to strike a light
No sparkling meteor cheers my sight
I only strike my tender knuckles
Rosa stands by and slyly chuckles
Why did I listen to that ode
Admired more than understood
While some it only sore amazed
My feeble wits it quite hath crazed.
Scintilla