The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
That horders of crooks felt they'd more right to own
The understanding critic firstly sees
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
Oh how oh how he hates such pilferings
Were pots graffiti'd over by a slave
They both are right not unformed smatterings
That every verbal shock aims to deprave
The fasting fakir doesn't smell the less
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
Poor Yorick comes to bury not address
Their sculptors did our best our hulks the clog
The Taj Mahal has trinkets spice and gum
A wise loaf always knows its humblest crumb