Here you will find the Poem Oiling of poet Norman Rowland Gale
Excuse me, Sweetheart, if I smear, With wisdom learnt from ancient teachers, Now winter time once more is here, This grease upon your lengthy features! Behaving thus, your loyal friend No whit encourages deception: Believe me, Fairest, in the end This oil will better your complexion. Fairest, believe! Did you imagine in the bag To sleep the sleep of Rip Van Winkle, Removed from sunshine's golden flag And duller daylight's smallest twinkle? Well have you earned your rest; but yet, Although disturbance seem uncivil, Unless your cheeks and chin be wet With oil, your beauteousness will shrivel. Rarest, believe! Absorb, that, when for our delight The May unpacks its lovely blossom, With beaming face, with shoulders bright You leave the bag's congenial bosom. Then shall the Lover and his Lass Walk out toward the pitch together, And, glorying in the shaven grass, Tackle, with mutual faith, the leather. Dearest, absorb!
