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When the poet's pot has bubbled and boiled
And still yields indigestible fare,
When the delicate morsel is wholly spoiled
And such is your rage that you do not care—
Then is the time to be debonair
And full of a pumiced and lavendered pride,
Get out your finest clothes to wear
And see that your shoes are neatly tied!
Envoy.
Keats is dead and has left no heir,But his words are balm to the sorely tried:
If you want to write verses rich and rare
See that your shoes are neatly tied!
