Again upon my knees I dandle
Like an opera by Handel
These my verses, now committed,
Yet another brief quodlibet,
Pathetic saving graces, say,
In the wave-lapped Milky Way.
How to put it, what the odds?
Concede, you once-immortal gods,
Mere poetry is not enough;
The world's too full of nasty stuff.
Fear not the amputating knife—
Fond, it lets you have your life!