You waved!—(I know not what; perhaps a shirt.)
IV. PORTRAIT OF A SPIRITUALLY DISTURBED GENTLEMAN
O piece of garbage rotting on a rug,—
To what a final ending hast thou come!
Art thou predestined fodder of a bug?
Shalt thou no more behold thy Dresden home?
When green disintegration works its last
Ruin, and all thy atoms writhe and start,
Shall no frilled-paper memories from the past
Drift spectral down the gravy of thy heart?