A Century of Parody and Imitation - Unknown

Then Mrs. Prig addressed me thus:

'Sir, if you'll be advised by me,

You'll leave the blessed babe to us;

It's my belief he wants his tea.'

From the depth of the dreamy decline of the dawn through a notable nimbus of nebulous noonshine,

Pallid and pink as the palm of the flag-flower that flickers with fear of the flies as they float,

Are they looks of our lovers that lustrously lean from a marvel of mystic miraculous moonshine,

These that we feel in the blood of our blushes that thicken and threaten with throbs through the throat?