Eight thousand nights alone—minus, perhaps,
Six, or no! seven, certainly not more.
Five little bits of heaven
(Tum-de-rum, de-rum, de-rum),
Five little bits of Heaven and one that was a lapse,
High-priced disgust: it stopped him suddenly
In the midst of laughter and talk with a tingling down the
(Like infants’ impoliteness, a terrible infant’s brightness),
And he would shut his eyes so as not to see
His own hot blushes calling him a swine.