The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower
Would soon have wither’d it away.
I’ve dearly loved my uncle John,
From childhood till the present hour,
And yet he will go living on—
I would he were a tree or flower!
From Carols of Cockayne. By Henry S. Leigh. (Chatto and Windus, London, 1874.)
A Few Muddled Metaphors
by a Moore-ose Melodist.
Oh, ever thus, from childhood’s hour,
I’ve seen my fondest hopes recede!