Poems of Philip Henry Savage / Philip Henry Savage [electronic text]

XII

I HATE the vast array of "modern" things, Gilt and pale purple, yellow, pink, and white; Dull imitations and a thousand light And weightless books of verse and copyings. There are so many! Every season brings A thousand fashions new and with delight Proclaims them beautiful; till I take flight And turn me to the masters and the kings. And yet they will not let the masters be; I find my Walton in a showy dress; Find all the bright, old-age simplicity Bedecked and botched; the years of good Queen Bess Are made the dull philistine's property; And Burns is "popularly" sent to press.