Of the sponges—thy muffins and crumpets—
Of the sea-weed—thy mustard and cress?
Wast thou nurtured in caverns of coral,
Remote from reproof or restraint?
Art thou innocent, art thou immoral,
Sinburnian or Saint?
Lithe limbs curling free as a creeper,
That creeps in a desolate place,
To enrol and envelop the sleeper
In a silent and stealthy embrace;