Lady, Very Fair Are You, And Your Eyes Are Very Blue, And Your Hose; And Your Brow Is Like The Snow, And The Various Things You Know, Goodness Knows. And The Rose-Flush On Your Cheek, And Your Algebra And Greek Perfect Are; And That Loving Lustrous Eye Recognizes In The Sky Every Star. You Have Pouting Piquant Lips, You Can Doubtless An Eclipse Calculate; But For Your Cerulean Hue, I Had Certainly From You Met My Fate. If By Some Arrangement Dual I Were Adams Mixed With Whewell, Then Some Day I, As Wooer, Perhaps Might Come To So Sweet An Artium Magistra.