For second course, last night, a custard came
To th' board, so hot as none could touch the same:
Furze three or four times with his cheeks did blow
Upon the custard, and thus cooled so;
It seem'd by this time to admit the touch,
But none could eat it, 'cause it stunk so much.
The Custard
Robert Herrick
(1)
Poem topics: night, time, touch, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
Submit Spanish Translation
Submit German Translation
Submit French Translation