Then I passed it through a silver sieve
Kept carefully free from spot or rust;
And the final jimglorious touch to give,
I threw in a sprinkle of nutmeg-dust.
“And I am told by the spirit-rappers
That in the American Paris-heaven,
Though they’ve fancy drinks which are total snappers,
There’s nothing better than mine are given.
So they die in New York without any pangs,
For they know in the next world, to requite ’em,