What lust of eight per cent., or nine,
Or ninety, broke her dream divine,
Her reverie of æsthetic pain.
Musing—can any care of mine
Restore the grand Saturnian reign?
Then said she; “Shall they flout me so?
Shall mortals in my presence dine,
Nor heed, for molluscs and clicquot,
The masterpieces on the line?
Forth from the temple, Philistine!