To make this condiment your poet begs The pounded yellow of two hard boiled eggs; Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve, Smoothness and softness to the salad give; Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, And, half suspected, animate the whole; Of mordant mustard add a single spoon, Distrust the condiment that bites so soon; But deem it not, thou man of herbs, a fault To add a double quantity of salt; Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca crown, And twice with vinegar, procured from town; And lastly, o'er the flavored compound toss A magic soupcon of anchovy sauce. O green and glorious! O herbaceous treat! 'T would tempt the dying anchorite to eat; Back to the world he'd turn his fleeting soul, And plunge his fingers in the salad-bowl; Serenely full, the epicure would say, "Fate cannot harm me, -- I have dined to-day." | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...LOVE by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS THE CHILD ALONE: 4. PICTURE-BOOKS IN WINTER by ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON AT ONE O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING by CHARLES BAUDELAIRE PRELUDE TO THE NANTAHALAS by BARBARA BOWEN ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE by ROBERT BURNS OF MUSIC by RICHARD EUGENE BURTON DIVINE AND MORAL SONGS: 21. LAMENT FOR PRINCE HENRY by THOMAS CAMPION |