At five precisely out went La Marquise
Licks round carved marble chops on snails full-blown
Upon his old oak chest he cuts his cheese
And empty cages show life's bird has flown
And yet 'twas he the beggar Fate just flings
Whose ocean still-born herrings madly brave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
As sleeping-bags the silent landscape pave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
And starve the sniveling baby like a dog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
Where no one bothered how one warmed one's bum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb