D., was issued by John Lane, in 1898. The punctuation of the original by Percy Bysshe Shelley: Summary, Meaning & Analysis
A young Shelley pens a whimsical, meandering poem about the struggle of putting thoughts on paper in a coherent way.
The poem
edition is here retained.] A Person complained that whenever he began to write, he never could arrange his ideas in grammatical order. Which occasion suggested the idea of the following lines: 1. Here I sit with my paper, my pen and my ink, First of this thing, and that thing, and t’other thing think; Then my thoughts come so pell-mell all into my mind, That the sense or the subject I never can find: This word is wrong placed,—no regard to the sense, The present and future, instead of past tense, Then my grammar I want; O dear! what a bore, I think I shall never attempt to write more, With patience I then my thoughts must arraign, Have them all in due order like mutes in a train, _10 Like them too must wait in due patience and thought, Or else my fine works will all come to nought. My wit too’s so copious, it flows like a river, But disperses its waters on black and white never; Like smoke it appears independent and free, _15 But ah luckless smoke! it all passes like thee— Then at length all my patience entirely lost, My paper and pens in the fire are tossed; But come, try again—you must never despair, Our Murray’s or Entick’s are not all so rare, _20 Implore their assistance—they’ll come to your aid, Perform all your business without being paid, They’ll tell you the present tense, future and past, Which should come first, and which should come last, This Murray will do—then to Entick repair, _25 To find out the meaning of any word rare. This they friendly will tell, and ne’er make you blush, With a jeering look, taunt, or an O fie! tush! Then straight all your thoughts in black and white put, Not minding the if’s, the be’s, and the but, _30 Then read it all over, see how it will run, How answers the wit, the retort, and the pun, Your writings may then with old Socrates vie, May on the same shelf with Demosthenes lie, May as Junius be sharp, or as Plato be sage. _35 The pattern or satire to all of the age; But stop—a mad author I mean not to turn, Nor with thirst of applause does my heated brain burn, Sufficient that sense, wit, and grammar combined, My letters may make some slight food for the mind; _40 That my thoughts to my friends I may freely impart, In all the warm language that flows from the heart. Hark! futurity calls! it loudly complains, It bids me step forward and just hold the reins, My excuse shall be humble, and faithful, and true, _45 Such as I fear can be made but by few— Of writers this age has abundance and plenty, Three score and a thousand, two millions and twenty, Three score of them wits who all sharply vie, To try what odd creature they best can belie, _50 A thousand are prudes who for CHARITY write, And fill up their sheets with spleen, envy, and spite[,] One million are bards, who to Heaven aspire, And stuff their works full of bombast, rant, and fire, T’other million are wags who in Grubstreet attend, _55 And just like a cobbler the old writings mend, The twenty are those who for pulpits indite, And pore over sermons all Saturday night. And now my good friends—who come after I mean, As I ne’er wore a cassock, or dined with a dean. _60 Or like cobblers at mending I never did try, Nor with poets in lyrics attempted to vie; As for prudes these good souls I both hate and detest, So here I believe the matter must rest.— I’ve heard your complaint—my answer I’ve made, _65 And since to your calls all the tribute I’ve paid, Adieu my good friend; pray never despair, But grammar and sense and everything dare, Attempt but to write dashing, easy, and free, Then take out your grammar and pay him his fee, _70 Be not a coward, shrink not to a tense, But read it all over and make it out sense. What a tiresome girl!—pray soon make an end, Else my limited patience you’ll quickly expend. Well adieu, I no longer your patience will try— _75 So swift to the post now the letter shall fly.
A young Shelley pens a whimsical, meandering poem about the struggle of putting thoughts on paper in a coherent way. He navigates the chaotic journey — from a scrambled mind to grammar guides to picturing his writing alongside Plato — before jovially acknowledging that he's just one tiny voice in a loud sea of writers. The poem wraps up with a playful nudge: don’t overanalyze; write freely first, then tidy it up later.
Line-by-line
Here I sit with my paper, my pen and my ink, / First of this thing, and that thing, and t'other thing think;
My wit too's so copious, it flows like a river, / But disperses its waters on black and white never;
But come, try again—you never must despair, / Our Murray's or Entick's are not all so rare,
But stop—a mad author I mean not to turn, / Nor with thirst of applause does my heated brain burn,
Hark! futurity calls! it loudly complains, / It bids me step forward and just hold the reins,
And now my good friends—who come after I mean, / As I ne'er wore a cassock, or dined with a dean.
I've heard your complaint—my answer I've made, / And since to your calls all the tribute I've paid,
Tone & mood
Light, self-deprecating, and truly warm. The poem doesn’t hold onto seriousness for long, often undercutting itself with a joke after just a couplet. Beneath the humor lies genuine affection — for the friend being addressed, for the writing process, and even for the grammar books being suggested. The lively anapestic rhythm gives a sense of spontaneity, which is a clever choice for a poem that tackles the challenges of being spontaneous in writing.
Symbols & metaphors
- The river — Wit that flows freely but never quite makes it to the page. The image reflects the struggle between having ideas and expressing them — all that energy spreading out aimlessly instead of carving a clear path.
- Smoke — Thoughts that seem free and independent vanish before they can be captured. Smoke may look striking but leaves no trace, much like unwritten ideas.
- Murray's and Entick's — The grammar book and the dictionary are essential tools for writing—patient, non-judgmental resources that quietly help transform raw ideas into clear prose. They feel like supportive friends who never make you feel less than capable.
- The fire — The frustrated writer's urge to obliterate their work instead of refining it. Throwing paper and pens into the fire marks a dramatic low point before the poem shifts to a more uplifting tone.
- The shelf with Socrates and Plato — Literary immortality is presented as a humorous fantasy. The speaker introduces the concept of lasting greatness but quickly undercuts it — that's not the real aim in this case.
Historical context
This poem was likely written when Shelley was still a child or a young teenager, long before the visionary ideas found in *Prometheus Unbound* or *Ode to the West Wind*. It was published after his death in 1898 as part of a collection edited by John Lane, and its youthful, humorous tone sets it apart from Shelley's later works. The poem belongs to a long tradition of verse epistles—friendly, conversational poems presented as letters—that dates back through Alexander Pope to Horace. References to Murray's *English Grammar* (first published in 1795) and Entick's *Dictionary* (1764) firmly place it in the late eighteenth-century classroom. "Grub Street" was the London street known for hack writing, and "Junius" refers to the anonymous political pamphleteer whose sharp letters made waves in the 1770s. Overall, the poem feels like a true piece of juvenilia: lively, amusing, and not yet focused on changing the world.
FAQ
The poem is written for a friend who expressed difficulty in organizing their thoughts while writing. Shelley takes that complaint and turns it into a humorous piece of advice, presented as a verse letter. The identity of the friend remains unknown.
Murray's is Lindley Murray's *English Grammar*, which first appeared in 1795 and became the go-to grammar textbook of its time. Entick's is John Entick's *New Spelling Dictionary*, released in 1764. Both were essential resources for anyone looking to learn proper writing in late eighteenth-century Britain.
They are often seen as the gold standard of great writing and oratory from ancient times. The humor lies in how the speaker builds up to this impressive comparison — suggesting your writing could be on the same shelf as Plato! — only to immediately deflate it by saying that’s not what she’s really aiming for. It’s a clever comic bait-and-switch.
Grub Street was an actual street in London that came to symbolize low-paid, hack writing—where individuals cranked out inexpensive pamphlets and rewrote others' work merely to make ends meet. Referring to someone as a 'Grub Street writer' was a derogatory term suggesting they lacked original ideas.
Not at all. This is juvenile Shelley, likely penned in his early teens. His later poetry — *Ozymandias*, *Ode to the West Wind*, *Adonais* — is ambitious, politically charged, and technically advanced. This poem reads more like a light, humorous letter, resembling a clever school exercise rather than the radical Romanticism he became known for.
The poem primarily uses anapestic couplets — a lively, galloping rhythm that features two unstressed syllables followed by a stressed one (da-da-DUM). This metre is common in comic and light verse, making it a great fit for the playful, self-deprecating tone. The rhythm reflects the chaotic, tumbling rush of thoughts that the poem captures.
Junius was the pseudonym of an anonymous writer whose pointed political letters appeared in a London newspaper from 1769 to 1772. These letters criticized the government with remarkable precision and humor, creating a national stir. The true identity of Junius was never revealed, adding to the intrigue surrounding the name. Shelley refers to it as a shorthand for sharp, incisive writing.
Write first, fix it later. The speaker encourages the friend to stop getting stuck on grammar and to just put their thoughts down — 'dashing, easy, and free' — and then revisit the grammar book to tidy up the tenses. This advice echoes what writing teachers share today, and it comes across with genuine warmth rather than a condescending tone.