Bitterness was the bony structure of the man,

A skeleton whereon the flesh sat solid;

The pattern Falstaff proper, but the plan

Misread in making new, or torn, or sullied.

Joy of the flesh was easy. Bone had pride.

Here was a civil war: when flesh was willing

In health and warm, bone turned the man aside.

Bone bleak and angular was all for ruling.

Bone hurt and hindered mortal pleasure so

The man was gaunt already when death knew him.

Fiercely he towered. Death saw daylight go

Almost unchecked but much distorted through him.

He died of that long since. Now it is known

The trouble that shook him so was badly ended.

Bone without flesh, that thought to stand alone,

Is a green heap of earth, and low and rounded.