That he who can get as much as he wants of it
Very soon drinks himself out of the world.
“ ’Tis said in the sky—right over Paris,
Where the American heaven is found,
Where everything brick-like and fast and rare is—
The cocks with tumblers for tails run round.
They cut to the bar for all things thinkable,—
All that is nice is a gratis boon,—
Then they come back with your favourite drinkable
And their sickle-feather’s a silver spoon!