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Gilbert Keith Chesterton - Sonnet To A Stilton Cheese
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Stilton, thou shouldst be living at this hour
    And so thou art. Nor losest grace thereby;
    England has need of thee, and so have I--
    She is a Fen. Far as the eye can scour,
    League after grassy league from Lincoln tower
    To Stilton in the fields, she is a Fen.
    Yet this high cheese, by choice of fenland men,
    Like a tall green volcano rose in power.


    Plain living and long drinking are no more,
    And pure religion reading `Household Words`,
    And sturdy manhood sitting still all day
    Shrink, like this cheese that crumbles to its core;
    While my digestion, like the House of Lords,
    The heaviest burdens on herself doth lay.
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