PROSPECTUS FOR A NEW MEDICINE
Why did Hjalmar return
The tankard of beaten silver lay void,
The stars of the evening
Became the stars of the morning
Reciprocally
The sorceress of the forest of Hruloë
Prepared her repast
She was an eater of horse-flesh
But he was not
Mai Mai ramaho nia nia.
Then the stars of the morning
Became again the stars of the evening
And reciprocally
They cried—In the name of Maröe
Wench of Arnamoer
And of his favorite zoöphyte
Prepare the drink of the gods
—Certainly noble warrior
Mai Mai ramaho nia nia.
She took the sun
And plunged him into the sea
As housewives
Dip a ham in gravy
But alas! the salmons voracious
Have devoured the drowned sun
And have made themselves wigs
With his beams
Mai Mai ramaho nia nia.
She took the moon and did her all with bands
As they do with the illustrious dead
And with little children
And then in the light of the only stars
The eternal ones
She made a concoction of sea-brine
The euphorbiaceans of Norwegian resin
And the mucous of Alfes
To make a drink for the gods
Mai Mai ramaho nia nia.
He died like the sun
And the sorceress perched at the top of a fir pine
Heard until evening
The rumours of the great winds engulfed in the phial
And the lying scaldas swear to this
Mai Mai ramaho nia nia.
Croniamantal was silent for an instant and then added:
"I shall from now on write only poetry free from all restrictions even that of language.[7]
"Listen, old man!"
MAHEVIDANOMI
RENANOCALIPNODITOC
EXTARTINAP # v.s.
A. Z.
Telephone: 33-122 Pan : Pan
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"Your last line, my poor Croniamantal," said the Bird of Benin, "is a simple plagiarism from Fr.nc.s J.mm.s."
"That is not true," said Croniamantal. "But I shall compose no more pure poetry. That is what I have come to, through your fault. I want to write plays."
"You had better go to see the young woman of whom I spoke to you. She knows you and seems to be crazy about you. You will find her in the Meudon woods next Thursday at a place that I shall designate. You will recognize her by the skipping rope that she will hold in her hand. Her name is Tristouse Ballerinette."
"Very well," said Croniamantal, "I shall go to see Ballerinette and shall sleep with her, but above all I want to go to the theatres to offer my play, Ieximal Jelimite, which I wrote in your studio last year while eating lemons."