Classic Poem

A PIECE of gold leaf from your magistrate's crown
You send me, and say — " A gold tankard write down."
It coated the floor of the state, I should say,
And by the red saffron was washed quite away.
Or perhaps on the leg of your couch it appeared,
Till a nail scraped it off, for 'twas only veneered.
It shakes when a gnat in the distance goes by,
And is moved by the wing of a small butterfly.
The heat of a lamp makes it dance about neatly,
And to dip it in wine would dissolve it completely.
So those small nuts are coated which mean clients bring
With a sixpence perhaps as New Year's offering.
Bean tendrils are of thicker filaments spun,
A lily's leaf coarser that fades in the sun.
More dense stands the chalk on old Fabia's face.
More dense are the bubbles upon a mill-race,
More solid the fringe-nets that Roman girls wear,
And the German pomade which dyes yellow their hair.
A skin like to this has a chick still unhatched,
And with spots so transparent our dandies go patched.
Why send me a tankard? A ladle or spoon
Would be surely sufficient — I'm speaking too soon:
A nice little shell you my present might call,
Or what is still cheaper — send nothing at all.