“Oh, wonderful things you’ll discover there
In the midst of the clatter and smoke and din.”
Out of the smoke there are statues carved,
And daring dreamers their day-dreams spin;
For never a poet’s soul has starved
On the notes of a table d’hote violin.
At that table yonder, perchance, was born
A sonnet that brought the singer fame—
And there, in a jacket frayed and worn,