SONNET ABOUT A NOSE.

’Tis very odd that poets should suppose There is no poetry about a nose, When plain as is the nose upon your face, A noseless face would lack poetic grace. Noses have sympathy; a lover knows Noses are always “touched,” when lips are kissing; And who would care to kiss, where nose was missing? Why, what would be the fragrance of a rose, And where would be our mortal means of telling Whether a vile or wholesome odour flows Around us, if we owned no sense of smelling? I know a nose, a nose no other knows, ’Neath starry eyes, o’er ruby lips it grows; Beauty is in its form, and music in its blows!