"Strength shall be thrust to the Eater And down to the Strong One, sweet." Was ever a proverb neater, A phrasing more apt or meeter To fix on our Course-Completer As we end Life's beat? You'll decorate quite the scarlet And secret hall of his tongue, With your clasped hands marble and stilly And your face like a frozen lily, For Death is a luscious varlet And likes maids young. So there's the end of it, Nelly, Of you and your purple hat. And I, your impotent Shelley, With czars and pariahs smelly, Shall tapestry well his belly, That grey, round Rat! |