A tumbler with Camomile Tea,
And drenching me three times a day with the same—
The horriblest bore that could be—
And shutting me up in my bedroom for hours,
With a tract and more Camomile Tea.
Even now, strange it seems, I have hideous dreams
Of that horrible Camomile Tea;
Of its taste when I think I still shudder and shrink
At the nauseous Camomile Tea;
And I muse in amaze at that old woman’s craze,