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A sonnet To a Lady's Skull
Now Used for My Tobacco Ash
Would have been wistful-fanciful
And rich in Oriental pash.
The Charters quaintly called Select
I hoped in metre to dissect;
Also (somewhat analogous)
To render the Dialogus
(You know it?) de Scaccario
And put my tutor in a glow.
The University Statutes
Afford some still ungarnered fruits—
In featly-footed terza-rima
They'd please the dilettante dreamer.
Then there was something rather coarser,
A fragment in the vein of Chaucer,
You would have dubbed the thing robust—
I'll try it yet, I really must . . .
But most of all my soul regrets
My still unwritten triolets.
