I could in Teuton musikshaus (till I of Wagner grew sick) souse
In "Hofbräu," and essay to flirt with each biergarten Hebe.
But then, if I to Norway turn, as Ibsenite I'd more weight earn—
And salmon-fishing mid the Kvæns is certainly high-class sport;
Or rumble in a tarantass o'er Russia? No, an arrant ass
I were, to go where night and day you're badgered for your passport!
I'd like (my programme's large), a panoramic glimpse of far Japan
From Fuji, and round Biwa Lake I'd in a jinrickshaw go;
Or even—for a hasty bet—I'd (like Miss Taylor) pace Thibet,
Or "blue" my surplus cash at what the Yankees call "Shecawgo."