VALETUDINARIANISM
Doth my soul inspire;
Ye who rave of health and cleanness,
Hearken to my lyre.
"Sweet it is to splash and spatter,
Standing in the tin;
Sweet to feel the fresh cool water
Trickling down your skin.
"Then to rub the shaggy towel
Briskly to and fro,
Till it leaves you panting, breathless,
In a fiery glow.
"What a sense of coolness, vigor,
All your languor gone!"
So I sang at summer's end,
With winter drawing on.
Out of bed I crept one morning,
Touched the icy tin, -
All my blood seemed curdled where the
Metal met my skin.
My joints grew numb, my poor teeth chattered,
My lips turned stiff and blue,
As from the frozen sponge I spattered
Water freezing too.
Morning baths may do for others;
I shall take no more.
Valetudinarianism
Is a horrid bore.
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