Cold are the crabs that crawl on yonder hill,
Colder the cucumbers that grow beneath,
And colder still the brazen chops that wreathe
          The tedious gloom of philosophic pills!
For when the tardy film of nectar fills
The ample bowls of demons and of men,
There lurks the feeble mouse, the homely hen,
          And there the porcupine with all her quills.
Yet much remains;—to weave a solemn strain
That lingering sadly—slowly dies away,
Daily departing with departing day
A pea-green gamut on a distant plain.
Where wily walruses in congress meet—
          Such such is life—
Where early buffaloes in congress meet
Than salt more salt, than sugar still more sweet,
And pearly centipedes adjust their feet,
Where buffaloes bewail the loss of soap,
Where frantic walruses in clouds elope,
          And early pipkins bid adieu to hope.