What soft, sweet, cold, pure whiteness, bound in drab.
Tooth's bite discloseth?
Are they not grand? Why (you may think it odd)
Some power alchemic
Turns, as we munch, to Zeus-assenting nod
Sneers Academic.
Till, when one cries, ''Ware hours that fleet like clouds,
Time, deft escaper!'
We answer bold: 'Leave Time to Dons and Dowds;
(Grace, pass the paper)