The Old Black Clay.
I love it! I love it! though some may say
It’s wrong to be fond of an old black clay;
I haven’t exactly inlaid it with sighs—
The turn of my mind has been otherwise—
For I always feel excessively gay
When I’m gazing upon that old black clay.
When rude and frivolous folk are by,
I never produce it—I’ll tell you why—
They call it harsh, injurious names,