THE CAMEL’S NOSE  by Lydia Sigourney 

Once in his shop a workman wrought
With languid hand, and listless thought,
When through the open window’s space
Behold!-a Camel thrust his face.

“My nose is cold,” he meekly cried,
“Oh, let me warm it by thy side.”

Since no denial word was said,
In came the nose,- in came the head,
As sure as sermon follows text
The long, excursive neck came next,
And then, as falls the threatening storm
In leap’d the whole ungainly form.

Aghast the owner gazed around,
And on the rude invader frown’d,
Convinc’d as closer still he prest,
There was no room for such a guest,
Yet more astonish’d, heard him say,
“If incommoded, go your way,
For in this place I choose to stay.”

Oh, youthful hearts, to gladness born,

Treat not this Arab lore with scorn.

To evil habit’s earliest wile

Lend neither ear, nor glance, nor smile,

Choke the dark fountain ere it flows,

Nor even admit the Camel’s Nose.