An attachment a la Plato
for a bashful young potato
or a, not too French, french bean
must excite your languid spleen.
For, if you walk down Picadilly
with a poppy or lily
in your medieval hand,
every one will say,
as you walk your flowery way;
"If this young man is content,
with a vegetable love
which would certainly not content me.
Why, what a very pure young man
this pure young man must be!"
		-- W.S. Gilbert, "Patience"
		[The subject of the humour is, of course, Oscar Wilde]