1From playboy Chance the nymph no longer flees
2since Elgin left his nostrils in the stone
3forms shadowy with indecision wheeze
4the thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
5To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
6were pots graffiti’d over by a slave
7such merchandise a melancholy brings
8for burning bushes never fish forgave
9It’s no good rich men crying Heaven Bless
10with quill white-collared through his life will jog
11to prove mamma an adult with a tress
12No need to cart such treasures from the fog
13poor reader smile before your lips go numb
14yet from the City’s pie pulled not one plum
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