Here’s the first stanza of a rather relentlessly charming poem by my beloved William Rowan Hamilton (this is, to my, and google’s knowledge, its internet premier).
The Purse
A Purse! a tempting sort of thing,
That oft hath fledged a Poet’s wing ;
A Lady’s Purse ! such prize in view,
Shall I not climb Parnassus too ?
Come then, if ever Lady’s eye
Hath kindled Poet’s energy ;
Come then, ye Muses ! if your breath
E’er waked a strain exempt from death ;
Now yield me one whose charmed song
May, all its faithful course along,
Now with an easy softness flow,
Now with impetuous ardour glow :
And, all its merits to rehearse,
May earn a smile and win the Purse !