Dear drunkards all, foreswear the puritan squawk
Now tendered to your ears by our bold Little Hawk
Who full of runny clouds of moral fog and drool,
Presumes to hand to other men a moral rule

To say what should and should not be pursued
And whether men's language should be neat, or lewd
And if your eye should fix on kerb and wall and square
Rather than on some beauteous bosom stare!

Nay never say deny, when to thine lights
Sweet gentle curves appear, rich in delight
Nor flinch from holy contemplation, never folly,
Of full supported nipple, gentle aureoli,

And all the beauties of the curve divine, for there,
Divinity doth mortal raiment share
And in support of golden globes divine
Reveals the' intent of ever Higher Mind!

Thus turn ye away from Grundy, Bowdler, prude,
And from laments by moralisers rude,
And pretense loud by cheap historian,
Or even reborn old Victorian!

But know by being sure of what's within
The honest fire of joy, that never is a sin
And do not give your soul into the lonely thrall
Of Little Hawk, reincarnate McGonagall!

Hastings Winthrop Doweather
Letters to the Missionary
Sterling, Massachusetts, 1897