Oliver Wendell Holmes

Up came their murderous deeds of old,The grisly story Chaucer told;And many an ugly tale beside,Of children caught and crucified.

Ten days and nights with sleepless eyeI watched that wretched man;Since then I never dare to writeAs funny as I can.

So, link by link, our friendships partTo loosen, break, and fall,A narrowing zone; the loving heartLives changeless through them all.

That thing thou fondly deem'st a nose,Unsightly though it be,In spite of all the world's cold scorn,It may be much to thee.

I tell you there was generous warmth in good old English cheer,I tell you 'twas a pleasant thought to bring its symbol here!'Tis but the fool that loves excess; hast thou a drunken soul,The fault is in thy shallow brain, not in my silver bowl.