A CRITICISM OF CRITICS
Reading edition
How often have the critics, trained To look upon the sky Through telescopes securely chained, Forgot the naked eye.
Within the compass of their glass Each smallest star they knew, And not a meteor could pass But they were looking through.
When a new planet shed its rays Beyond their field of vision, And simple folk ran out to gaze, They laughed in high derision.
They railed upon the senseless throng Who cheered the brave new light. And yet the learned men were wrong, The simple folk were right.