While prisoned torrents made their moan two thousand feet below:
The Simplon pass and prodigies Vesuvian have I done,
And gazed in rock-bound Norway upon the midnight sun—
Yet at no time such wonderment, such transports filled my breast
As when I fixed my orbs upon a Will J. Davis vest.
All vainly have I hunted this worldly sphere around
For a waistcoat like that waistcoat, but that waistcoat can't be found!
The Frenchman shrugs his shoulders and the German answers "nein,"
When I try the haberdasheries on the Seine and on the Rhine,
And the truckling British tradesman having trotted out his best