How's A Man To Write A Sonnet, Can You Tell,-- How's He Going To Weave The Dim, Poetic Spell,-- When A-Toddling On The Floor Is The Muse He Must Adore, And This Muse He Loves, Not Wisely, But Too Well? Now, To Write A Sonnet, Every One Allows, One Must Always Be As Quiet As A Mouse; But To Write One Seems To Me Quite Superfluous To Be, When You 've Got A Little Sonnet In The House. Just A Dainty Little Poem, True And Fine, That Is Full Of Love And Life In Every Line, Earnest, Delicate, And Sweet, Altogether So Complete That I Wonder What's The Use Of Writing Mine.