I thought not. What a pair of eyes!
I’ll have to send you back to school.
If Plato’s spirit could arise,
We’d tell the ghost he was a fool.
Now lift your sweet lips up to mine;
I like the language that they speak;
I know the rhetoric is not fine,—
What dreadful work they’d make of Greek!
Ah, how I love your little form!
And now—be sure you sit quite still—