 | Selected Poems from The Atlantic Monthly |  |
846
EPIGRAM ON J. M.
SAID Fortune to a common spit,
"Your rust and grease I'll rid ye on,
And make ye in a twinkling fit
For Ireland's Sword of Gideon!"
"Your rust and grease I'll rid ye on,
And make ye in a twinkling fit
For Ireland's Sword of Gideon!"
In vain! what Nature meant for base
All chance for good refuses;
M. gave one gleam, then turned apace
To dirtiest kitchen uses.
All chance for good refuses;
M. gave one gleam, then turned apace
To dirtiest kitchen uses.
| Selected Poems from The Atlantic Monthly | |