Prose took the minstrel's verse without a squeeze
His nasal ecstasy beats best Cologne
He bent right down and well what did he seize
One gathers rosebuds or grows old alone
They both are right not untamed mutterings
That metred rhyme alone can souls enslave
In salads all chew grubs before they've wings
Till firemen come with hose-piped tidal wave
The peasants's skirts on rainy days she'd tress
Or grinning like a pale-faced golliwog
To prove mamma an adult with a tress
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
And let you off from your opinions glum
For Europe's glory while Fate's harpies strum