A Slight Slip Of The Tongue

Hello is that the spell-caster's helpline
I really think it would be quite divine
If you could help  me out of my distress
A tiny error has caused quite a mess
I wanted to transform myself into a poet
(I thought I had no talent then and now I know it).
I gathered all the bits and pieces needed
The length of Longfellow, by no yawns, impeded
The gruesomeness of Poe, of Browing love,
From Shelley nightingales' wings, Wilde a glove,
From Wordsworth, a verdant wood's impulse
And many other things both new and used.
But oh, the nightmare from a slip of diction
My tongue in saying "AXALOXYPHUS" lost friction
Slipped and said "AXALOTOPLPHUS" and on to me
Fell the dread curse of ironical metonymy.
Not transformed into a poet I, but by the Hoary Hosts of Hoggeral
I found myself this self-same piece of Doggeral,
Doomed to live out my life in 20 lines,
With many awful forced and half-done rhymes.