Or penned an Ode to Daphne's hair.
To dare all for a woman's smile
Or breathe one's heart out in a rose—
Such trifles now are out of style,
The scented manuscript must close.
Yet Villon wrote his roundelays,
And that sweet singer Horace;
But I will sing of other days
In praise of Clara Morris.
Youth is but the joy of life,