John Godfrey Saxe, Poems.
R. LUTTRELL once said to me, "Sir, the man who says he does not like a good dinner, is either a fool or a liar."
J. R. Planché, Recollections.
TO PHŒBE.
ENTLE, modest little flower,
Sweet epitome of May,
Love me but for half an hour,
Love me, love me, little fay."
Sentences so swiftly flaming
In your tiny shell-like ear,
I should always be exclaiming
If I loved you, Phœbe dear:
"Smiles that thrill from any distance
Shed upon me while I sing!
Please ecstaticize existence,
Love me, oh thou, fairy thing!"
Words like these outpouring sadly
You'd perpetually hear,
If I loved you fondly, madly;—
But I do not, Phœbe dear.
W. S. Gilbert, Bab Ballads.
