Classic Poem

Dear, my friend & honour'd madam! of hard facts I'm not a hoarder,
And that you will quite forgive me my forgetfulness, I beg!
It had pass'd me what was requisite to stock the little boarder,
But dream we of its feathers when the chick has burst the egg?

Oh! the happy close of Norwich, with its towering Cathedral!
Its boys that shout at Prisoner's Base, the envy of a man!
Oh, the happy " harping" hours when of Confederate & Federal,
We talked, what time of Partridge full & eke of Parmesan!

Methinks, to let the days slip by, it was not noble, Madam,
While my infant was deficient in such necessary things;
Compell'd to rest on charity, or else to sleep like Adam
Without a tow'l to wipe his face, a spoon to oil his springs.

Ha! you scorn us? is it not so? I am led to think it, certes;
But so terrible a poet's wrath, I pardon ere I blame.
I see the little fellow who so lovely in his shirt is,
And I swear an oath that this day week the sheets shall own his name.

The pillow-cases likewise, towels six, & silver fourchette;
The tea-spoon & dessert-spoon (For I have it all by rote):
I will send them in a jiffy — But, pray, tell me (with the door shut);
Do you find him such a darling 't is no wonder that I dote?

Oh! had I but a passion now, to tear it all to tatters,
And storm as doth the limp young man who frightened Geraldine!
I have chatter'd as that weedy, woman's-tender-ruffian chatters —
May it give you satisfaction! — which remaineth to be seen.

Oh, Lady of the Three Black Cats! farewell, & let me hope a
Meeting we may compass, ere in effigy you stand,
In Norwich's Cathedral, our illustrious St. Jessopa,
A scroll to tell a Boarder's needs in Heaven, in your hand!