Pigmy seraphs—gone astray— Velvet people from Vevay— Balles from some lost summer day— Bees exclusive Coterie— Paris could not lay the fold Belted down with Emerald— Venice could not show a check Of a tint so lustrous meek— Never such an Ambuscade As of briar and leaf displayed For my little damask maid—
I had rather wear her grace Than an Earl’s distinguished face— I had rather dwell like her Than be “Duke of Exeter”— Royalty enough for me To subdue the Bumblebee.
