How about the beach I wandered, listening while that youth sublime Spouted verses by the dozen, which he said he wrote for _Time_. But his form was somewhat fatter than should be for one so young, And his round eyes spoke the language of his glib and oily tongue. In the spring the fleshly poet writes a sweet and soothing sonnet: In the spring a wise young woman buys a more becoming bonnet. And he said, "Oh, have you anything in Consols or Per Cents.? For my property's in Ireland, and I cannot get the rents?" Oh, my Oscar! Impecunious! Oh, intense!--if nothing worse-- Oh, those too-too precious poems! Oh, that too-too empty purse! Then I said, "I've an allowance from an old maternal aunt, Just enough for dress; but as to victuals--no, I really can't!" And he turned, his face was frightful, pale with anger for poor me; Was it fancy that he muttered something like a big, big D--? * * * * * As my husband is, his wife is, rich, the envy of the town; How a life in shabby lodgings would have dragged my spirit down! How my beauty would have faded, growing daily paler, thinner! Making puddings, washing clothing, planning for the children's dinner. Comes the butler, "Lunch is ready, madam!" iced champagne, I know, Mayonnaise and lobster salad; I am hungry and--I go. * * * * * Here is another, and an earlier, imitation of the same original:-- BACCHANALIAN DREAMINGS. Cronies leave me in the bar-room, while as yet I've cash to spend, Leave me here, and if I'm wanted, 'mum's' the word to every friend, 'Tis the place, I can assure you, if from funds you wish to part; Yet for these you'll get a mixture, wisely stirred will warm the heart. This old house is situated in a street well-known as High; Here the choicest spirits gather, when the moon is in the sky. Oft at night I've seen the taper seemingly to multiply And assume these quaintish fashions so deceptive to the eye. Till in fancy I've been lifted high above this earthly ball; And the lights, like stars have twinkled, in the mirrors on the wall. In the happiness that followed, I've forgot life's cankering care, Yet from these Elysian dreamings I've waked to misery and despair. In this mood I've heard, with pleasure common mortals cannot know, Grand debates, and songs and speeches, which from sparkling genius flow. Then I've built aerial castles towering up to heights sublime, And I've questioned in my fancy, if such blissfulness were mine. For the nonce, a powerful statesman, I have ruled with iron sway, Millions of my fellow-creatures, who, of course, were rougher clay. Changing, then, to mighty warrior, at the head of armies bold, I've crushed all who dared oppose me, just for glory, not for gold.