Classic Poem

TO EMILIA .

Yellow as the cups of gold,
Peering through the springtime mold,
Sweeter than a breath of clover
Blowing the June meadows over.—
Butter, such as Goethe said
Werter saw his Charlotte spread
For her sisters and her brothers,
And, perhaps, for a few others,
Till it turned her lover's head;
Such as sweet Red Riding Hood,
By that wicked wolf pursued,
Through the enchanted forest bore
To her grandam's fatal door.
'Tis the ashen time of Lent.
Well, I know some fairy sent
This, for my soul's nourishment:
Well I know a fairy churned
The creamy lactage till it turned
To golden gobbets; that a dame
Of gracious presence, known to fame
By her sweet baptismal name
Of Emilia (Emily),
Pressed it into shape for me
With her jeweled fingers.
Say you:
“This is all a dream?” I pray you,
Then, in sober truth to tell me
Has your huckster some to sell me?
Tell me, tell me, I implore,
What's his number? Where's his store?