To James Newton Matthews in Answer to a Letter on the Anatomy of the Sonnet
Oho! ye sunny, sonnet-singin’ vagrant,
Flauntin’ your simmer sangs in sic a weather!
Ane maist can straik the bluebells and the heather
Keekin’ aboon the snaw and bloomin’ fragrant!
Whiles you, ye whustlin’ brither, sic a lay grant
O’ a’ these janglin’, wranglin’ sweets thegither,
I weel maun perk my ain doon-drappin’ feather
And pipe a wee: Tho’ boisterous and flagrant
The winds blow whuzzle-whazzle rhymes that trickle
Fra’ aff my tongue less limpid than I’d ha’e them,
I in their little music hap a mickle
O’ canty praises, a’ asklent to weigh them
Agen your pride, and smile to see them tickle
The warm nest o’ the heart wherein I lay them.