Of course, he lies, and fondly petted!
The eighteen-hundred-ninety-first
Is not, I fancy, much regretted.
You call him "fine"—he's great in size,
And "promising"—there issue from his
Tough larynx quite stentorian cries;
Such notes are haply notes of promise.
Look out for squalls, I tell you; soft
And dove-like atoms more engage us;
Your fin-de-siècle child is oft