Explore "Truth" by Oliver Herford on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Permit me, madame, to declare / That I never will compare / Eyes of yours to Starlight cold, / Or your locks to Sunlight's gold, / Or your lips, I'd have you know, / To the crimson Jacqueminot.
Stuff like that's all very fine / When you get so much a line; / Since I don't, I scorn to tell / Flattering lies. I like too well / Sun and Stars and Jacqueminot / To flatter them, I'd have you know.