from Types of Pan by Keith Preston, 1919
The urge of the midge to the flame,
Is naught to the lure of a handle;
The mind is a fluttering moth
And a name is the perilous candle.
I know names that are smoother than silk,
And names that are softer than butter;
I know names that are perfectly sweet,
And names that are utterly utter.
If Cleo had only been Liz
Her beauty would not have distraught me.
If Flo had been Irma her phiz
Would never, no never, have caught me.
Oh Min! When I hear it I wince!
Maria may rank as a charmer;
But her monicker makes her a quince:
A name is the joint in my armor!
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