I. <br />He is to weet a melancholy carle: <br />Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair, <br />As hath the seeded thistle when in parle <br />It holds the Zephyr, ere it sendeth fair <br />Its light balloons into the summer air; <br />Therto his beard had not begun to bloom, <br />No brush had touch'd his chin or razor sheer; <br />No care had touch'd his cheek with mortal doom, <br />But new he was, and bright, as scarf from Persian loom. <br /> <br />II. <br />Ne cared he for wine, or half-and-half; <br />Ne cared he for fish or flesh, or fowl; <br />And sauces held he worthless as the chaff; <br />He 'sdeigned the swine-head at the wassail-bowl; <br />Ne with lewd ribbalds sat he cheek by jowl; <br />Ne with sly Lemans in the scorner's chair; <br />But after water-brooks this Pilgrim's soul <br />Panted, and all his food was woodland air; <br />Though he would oft-times feast on gilliflowers rare. <br /> <br />III. <br />The slang of cities in no wise he knew, <br />Tipping the wink to him was heathen Greek; <br />He sipp'd no 'olden Tom,' or 'ruin blue,' <br />Or Nantz, or cherry-brandy, drank full meek <br />By many a damsel brave, and rouge of cheek; <br />Nor did he know each aged watchman's beat, <br />Nor in obscured purlieus would he seek <br />For curled Jewesses, with ankles neat, <br />Who as they walk abroad, make tinkling with their feet.<br /><br />John Keats<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/spenserian-stanzas-on-charles-armitage-brown/
