Classic Poem

She takes hiShead upon her breast;
She kisses and caresses him;
She's all unhappy and oppressed,
If anything distresses him.

She sings his praises to his face,
Until he swells with vanity,
But silent takes it, with the grace
Of insolent inanity.

He is n't witty, wise, nor fair;
His voice is not melodious;
His manners are beyond compare—
Comparisons are odious.

And yet I'd take his visage grim
And clumsy form, and pay for it
Right royally, to be like him,—
Thrice happy Dog!—her favorite.