Follows the thirdling;
Through wholesome hard, sharp soft, your tooth must bite
Ere reach the birdling.
Now, were there only crust to crunch, you’d wince:
Unpalatable!
Sage-leaf is bitter-pungent—so’s a quince;
Eat each who’s able!
But through all three bite boldly—lo, the gust!
Flavour—no fixture—
Flies permeating flesh and leaf and crust