This is an absolutely ridiculous poem by one of my favorites, W.S. Gilbert. Its from a collection of poems called "the Bab Ballads" that he published under the pen-name "Bab" in the magazine "Fun" starting in 1861. These were apart from his partnership with Arthur S. Sullivan, to make a few bucks. I wonder if any of those issues of Fun are still around, and who I'd have to kill to get one.
Ballad: TO PHOEBE,
by William S. Gilbert
"GENTLE, modest little flower,
Sweet epitome of May,
Love me but for half an hour,
Love me, love me, little fay."
Sentences so fiercely flaming
In your tiny shell-like ear,
I should always be exclaiming
If I loved you, PHOEBE dear.
"Smiles that thrill from any distance
Shed upon me while I sing!
Please ecstaticize existence,
Love me, oh, thou fairy thing!"
Words like these, outpouring sadly
You'd perpetually hear,
If I loved you fondly, madly; -
But I do not, PHOEBE dear.
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