John Hunter

A GENTLE spirit, sweet and pure and kind,

Though strangely witted,—“high fantastical,”—

Who mantles his deep feelings in a pall

Of motley hues, by contrast more combined,

That seems to hide, yet heightens what ’s enshrined

Beneath;—who, by a power unknown to all,

Save him alone, can summon at a call

A host of jarring elements, entwined

In wondrous brotherhood,—humor, wild wit,

Quips, cranks, puns, sneers,—with clear sweet thought profound;—

And stinging jests, with honey for the wound;—

The subtlest lines of all fine powers, split

To their last films, then marvellously spun

In magic web, whose million hues are one!