Classic Poem

Ay , here stands the Poplar, so tall and so stately,
On whose tender rind — 'twas a little one then —
We carved her initials; though not very lately —
We think in the year eighteen hundred and ten.

Yes, here is the G which proclaimed Georgiana;
Our heart's empress then; see, 'tis grown all askew;
And it's not without grief we perforce entertain a
Conviction, it now looks much more like a Q.

This should be the great D too, that once stood for Dobb
Her loved patronymic — ah! can it be so?
Its once fair proportions time, too, has been robbing
A D? — we'll be Deed if it isn't an O!

Alas! how the soul sentimental it vexes,
That thus on our labours stern Chronos should frown,
Should change our soft liquids to izzards and Xes,
And turn true-love's alphabet all upside down.