Explore "To Myrtilla Again" by Franklin P. Adams on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Myrtilla, when the thought of you / Obstructs my cold, unbiased view, / And keeps me from / My hard though hum- / Ble task, / I do not murmur nor complain / I do not ululate nor feign / A love for _vin_ / Or what is in / A flask.
When, as I said in stanza first, / My mind is thoroughly immersed / With you until / My pulses thrill / And throb, / I don't, in tones more picturesque / Than journalistic, slam my desk, / And in a fit / Of frenzy quit / My job.
When, as I may have said before, / Your image I can not ignore, / I do not tear / My thinning hair / Nor cuss;
I leave such sentimental show / To bards like Shelley, Keats, and Poe / I merely spill / Some ink, Myrtil- / La, thus.