MY wee, wee fawn, you see me yawn?
Well, I'm not much disposed to flattery;
And were I so, you rogue! you know
You're proof against the fiercest battery.
You have an ear? of stone, my dear;
A heart? yes, yes, of temper'd iron,
And love of self, the little elf,
Doth with a Tower of Brass environ!
Joseph Skipsey
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-tower-11/
