Volume 152 — THE FOOD OF LOVE.
Reading edition
A LYRIC OF MEATLESS DAYS.
Eat to me only with thine eyes And I will munch with mine; Or let my lips but brush thy locks And I shall seem to dine; The hollow 'neath my belt that lies For flesh of beeves doth pine; Yet, might I wolf a roasted ox, I would, of course, decline. I sent thee once a juicy steak To prove thy troth and see If in that stern ordeal's test Stedfast thou still wouldst be; And thou thereof one sniff didst take And post it back to me, Since when I wear it next my chest, Potted, for love of thee. O.S.