MINIVER CHEEVY
Miniver Cheevy, child of scorn,
Grew lean while he assailed the seasons;
He wept that he was ever born, And he had reasons.
Miniver loved the days of old
When swords were bright and steeds were prancing; The vision of a warrior bold
Would set him dancing.
Miniver sighed for what was not,
And dreamed, and rested from his labors,
He dreamed of Thebes and Camelot, And Priam's neighbors.
Miniver mourned the ripe renown
That made so many a name so fragrant;
He mourned Romance, now on the town, And Art, a vagrant.
Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one; He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
Miniver cursed...
