Classic Poem

Upon these rags transformed to paper
My goose-quill is compelled to run,
And I am forced in verse to caper
Half seriously and half in fun.

I who am used, such methods spurning,
Upon your rosy mouth my part
To speak in kisses warm and burning,
That flame resistless from my heart!

By fashion we are mania-bitten!
Are you a poet? — Then your wife,
Till in her album you have written
Like other stars, will plague your life.