Classic Poem

I look'd for my poet — he came not!
He came not, though much I expected him.
His breach of agreement I blame not,
But Faith has forever rejected him!

(Chorus — Through Eternity, " Forever, " etc.)

Yes, tho' the weather be December O!
Is this a fair excuse, my Bonaparte,
For Friar's Omelettes kill'd in embryo,
And breakfasts spoilt, or eaten on'y part?

Lo, the sweet sunshine to shame thee!
'Tis the weather for poets to forage in.
In the clouds I reproachfully name thee,
And they say — Here his promise has origin!
Of us, and in us, see his origin!
His misty, remarkable origin!