The Poetry Corner

To A Certain Critic

By George MacDonald

Such guests as you, sir, were not in my mind When I my homely dish with care designed; 'Twas certain humble souls I would have fed Who do not turn from wholesome milk and bread: You came, slow-trotting on the narrow way, O'erturned the food, and trod it in the clay; Then low with discoid nostrils sniffing curt, Cried, "Sorry cook! why, what a mess of dirt!"