VI.As a bad orator, badly o’er-book-skilled,Doth overflow his purpose with made heat,And, like a clock, winds with withoutness willedWhat should have been an inner instinct’s feat;Or as a prose-wit, harshly poet turned,Lacking the subtler music in his measure,With useless care labours but to be spurned,Courting in alien speech the Muse’s pleasure;I study how to love or how to hate,Estranged by consciousness from sentiment,With a thought feeling forced to be sedateEven when the feeling’s nature is violent;As who would learn to swim without the river,When nearest to the trick, as far as ever.
As a bad orator, badly o’er-book-skilled,Doth overflow his purpose with made heat,And, like a clock, winds with withoutness willedWhat should have been an inner instinct’s feat;Or as a prose-wit, harshly poet turned,Lacking the subtler music in his measure,With useless care labours but to be spurned,Courting in alien speech the Muse’s pleasure;I study how to love or how to hate,Estranged by consciousness from sentiment,With a thought feeling forced to be sedateEven when the feeling’s nature is violent;As who would learn to swim without the river,When nearest to the trick, as far as ever.