Take me to your elfin grot...

Nothing is easier to parody than poetic romanticism, whether it's Housman's pessimistic kind:
What? Still alive at twenty-two?
A fine upstanding chap like you?

...or Whitman's slightly soppy kind:
I'd rather sit beneath small stars
Than with rough men who drink in bars

But the most-parodied poem must be Masefield's Sea Fever; even I had a go once with a piece of youthful scatology:
I must go down to the loo again
For the loo I feel disposed
And all I ask is a stout door
And a lock to keep it closed...
and so on, getting pretty tasteless towards the end; at least I had the sense not to call it WC Fever.

But the best version - unfortunately I forget who wrote it—is one which, like all good parodies, springs from affection for the original and apes its spirit as well as its rhythm and metre:
I must go back to a vest again
To a winter vest, with sleeves
And all I ask is an honest shop
Where the shop-men are not thieves
And a fair price, and a free choice
And a full stretch for dining
And a smooth touch on the bare chest
And a smooth inner lining.

[Yes, I know the original omits the word "go" in the first line.]