Afield to wild poetic festivals)
I, innocently making calls
Was snatched by a swift motor toward his tree
(Alas, but lady poets will do this to thee
If thou art decorative, witty or a Man)
And heard him sing, and on the grass did bide.
But my whole day was sadder for his words,
And I was thinner
Because, in spite of my most careful plan
I missed a very pleasant little dinner....