Methought that I was on what's called "a spree,"
Yet sadly pensive in the motley throng.
Where thrills through clouds of smoke the melody
Of idiotic song;
Where youth with tipsy rapture drowns in beer
All common sense, votes decency a bore,
But, to the shapely limbs and sensuous leer,
Yells out a loud "Encore—"
Then flashed before me in the gaslights' glare
A form to make the boldest hold his breath,