A poem which takes the line: ‘How do I hate you? Let me count the ways’ as its first line
How do I hate you? Let me count the ways.
I hate you calling Robert ‘thee’ when ‘you’
Would do as well; I hate the rosy hue
With which you colour every flowery phrase;
I hate the way you rabbit on and rave
In mawkish metaphors of love that knows
No limits but miraculously grows,
If you’re to be believed, beyond the grave!
I hate you for your similes, your rhymes,
Your every prissy, pious platitude;
I hate your saintly, nauseous attitude
To love long since consigned to fabled times;
I hate the way you’ve wormed your way into
The Nation’s Favourite Poems, fame indeed!
Small wonder then, of all the verse I read,
No sonnet could I hate so much as you!
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