Click in the field, then press CTRL+C to copy the HTML code
To Lydia
When, Lydia, you (once fond and true,
But now grown cold and supercilious)
Praise Telly's charms of neck and arms--
Well, by the dog! it makes me bilious!
Then with despite my cheeks wax white,
My doddering brain gets weak and giddy,
My eyes o'erflow with tears which show
That passion melts my vitals, Liddy!
Deny, false jade, your escapade,
And, lo! your wounded shoulders show it!
No manly spark left such a mark--
Leastwise he surely was no poet!
With savage buss did Telephus
Abraid your lips, so plump and mellow;
As you would save what Venus gave,
I charge you shun that awkward fellow!
And now I say thrice happy they
That call on Hymen to requite 'em;
For, though love cools, the wedded fools
Must cleave till death doth disunite 'em.
poem
by
Eugene Field
solid border
dashed border
dotted border
double border
groove border
ridge border
inset border
outset border
no border
blue
green
red
purple
cyan
gold
silver
black