Classic Poem

Dear Tom, d'ye see the rill
Of sand within this phial?
It runs like in a mill,
And tells time like a dial.

That sand was once Ronsard,
Till Bessy D look'd at him.
Her eye burnt up the bard —
He's pulverised! an atom!

Now at this tale so horrid,
Pray learn to keep your smile hid,
For Bessy's zone is " torrid. "
And fire is in her eyelid.