My Inkstand
This new one is thought both convenient and nice—
The atmosphere forcing the ink to the brim;
I question the worth of this modern device,
For seldom great thoughts on the surface will swim,
But something like whales, when they find themselves sought,
Down, swiftly from sight, in the depths they will sink—
At the bottom, the angled for ideas are caught,
And only by multiplied thrusts in the ink.