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ANACREONTICS.
VII.
Look at her! Hear her! Worship her there!
As she sits at her ease in a soft arm-chair,
Between the puffs of her light cigarette
Tossing out melody, jet after jet,
And the hearers are all agreed
No tones that are touched from a harp with man's fingers,
(Vide Swinburne) can vie with the music that lingers,
When blown through girl's mouth by a reed,
And all of us swore as we heard
That her singing was truly divine,
And that all the more our hearts she stirred
Because of that wonderful wine.
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