When early worms began to crawl, and early birds to sing,
And frost, and mud, and snow, and rain proclaimed the jocund spring,
Its all-pervading influence the Poet's soul obeyed—
He made a song to greet the Spring, and this is what he made:—

They sadly lacked enlightenment, our ancestors of old,
Who used to suffer simply from an ordinary cold:
But we, of Science' mysteries less ignorant by far,
Have nothing less distinguished than a Bronchial Catarrh!

O when your head's a lump of lead and nought can do but sneeze:
Whene'er in turn you freeze and burn, and then you burn and freeze:—
It does not mean you're going to die, although you think you are—
These are the primal symptoms of a Bronchial Catarrh.

And when you've taken drugs and pills, and stayed indoors a week,
Yet still your chest with pain opprest will hardly let you speak:
Amid your darksome miseries be this your guiding star—
'Tis simply the remainder of a Bronchial Catarrh.

In various ways do various men invite misfortune's rods,—
Some row within their College boat,—some Logic read for Mods.:
But oh! of all the human ills our happiness that mar
I do not know the equal of a Bronchial Catarrh!