Classic Poem

1.

How the poets should be honoured,
Well these ladies understand;
Self and genius they invited
To a luncheon they had planned.

Ah! how excellent the soup was,
How restorative the wine!
And how well the hare was larded,
And the chicken, how divine!

I believe we talked of poetry;
And, when satisfied at last,
For the honour great I thanked them
They had shown by their repast.

2.

Which of the two to fall in love with?
So amiable are both, and kind!
The mother's still a handsome woman;
The daughter's fair and to my mind.

So moving to behold, the form is,
That still is innocent and white!
The genial eye is also charming,
That reads one's tenderness at sight.

My heart our hoary friend resembles
Who stands, in contemplative zest,
Between two bundles of his fodder,
Uncertain which will taste the best.

3.

Plain the tricolor of flowers
That you wear upon your breast
Says, " This heart is free, nor cowers
In the chains the free detest. "

Mary, monarch of my heart,
Fourth of Maries it has owned,
Many queens that played your part,
In disgrace have been dethroned.

4.

The bottles are empty, the breakfast was good,
The ladies are rosy and pleased.
They have drunk just a little more wine than they should:
Their bodices boldly they've eased.

Their bosoms and shoulders are fair, I can vouch;
My heart is a-flutter with fright,
As, laughing, they throw themselves down on the couch;
The counterpane hides them from sight.

Before them, for comfort, the curtains they pull,
They snore for a wager, in fact.
I gaze on the couch, left alone, like a fool,
Perplexed as to how I should act.

5.

Courage quickens now that, daily,
Youth recedes and grows more dim,
And my bolder arm now gaily
Circles many a waist more slim.

Some have listened, shocked, demurely,
Who have yielded all the same;
Flattery has conquered surely
Lovely scorn and timid shame.

Yet the best — I mark it wondering —
Triumph holds for me no more.
Can it be the sweet and blundering
Asininity of yore?