To seek at once the illimitable inane,
Than cognisant of anguish thus remain
The tenant of a desolated shrine,
A bare clay cabin, like this frame of mine.
Oh, rich saloons! Oh, rooms of wretched state!
The pomp and glory of you all I hate!
Ye fulsome diving dados, would ye were
Extinct as your vocabular congener!
Place me where errant icebergs, anchored deep
By chains of frost, a darkling vigil keep,