Where the sawdust-scent of a cheap saloon
Is mingled with malt; where each man smokes;
Where they sing the street-songs out of tune,
Talk Art, and bandy ephemeral jokes.
By Jove, I do! And all the time
I know not a man that is there to-night,
But would barter his brains to be where I’m—
And I’m well aware that the beggars are right.
H. C. Bunner.