Page:In Other Words (1912).djvu/90

 

Us Potes

 

Swift was sweet on Stella;
 Poe had his Lenore;
Burns’s fancy turned to Nancy
 And a dozen more.

Pope was quite a trifler;
 Goldsmith was a case;
Byron’d flirt with any skirt
 From Liverpool to Thrace.

Sheridan philandered;
 Shelley, Keats, and Moore
All were there with some affair
 Far from lit’rachoor.

Fickle is the heart of
 Each immortal bard.
Mine alone is made of stone—
 Gotta work too hard.

 

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