A Century of Parody and Imitation

by Unknown

I.

A sweet, acidulous, down-reaching thrill

Pervades my sense: I seem to see or hear

The lushy garden-grounds of Greenwich Hill

In autumn, when the crispy leaves are sere:

And odours haunt me of remotest spice

From the Levant or musky-aired Cathay,

Or from the saffron-fields of Jericho,

Where everything is nice:

The more I sniff, the more I swoon away,