Time was when books, sent forth without pretence,
Elaborately wrought with studious zeal,
Were true exponents of the heart. To feel
Strongly came first; then speech, pure from offence,
Yet vigilantly fearless. Handmaid to Sense,
Wit wrought for Reason; Satire probed to heal;
And Raillery, chafed spirits to anneal:
Thus, genuine instincts to fulfil, and thence
Good ends secure, the purpose was of all.
Men fight for triumph now; transforming words
To stings; and poisoning Wisdom’s fount with gall.
Books have cloaked meanings: a light tale affords
A mask for sour Polemicks; and the curse
Of Passion desecrates immortal verse!
From: de Vere, Aubrey, Sonnets: A New Edition,1875, Basil Montagu Pickering: London, p. 6.
(https://books.google.com.au/books?id=dYwMAAAAYAAJ)
Date: 1842
By: Aubrey de Vere (1788-1846)
From Troubles of The World 