XIII.

One of the ones that Midas touched,
Who failed to touch us all,
Was that confiding prodigal,
Pure grain alcohol.

So drunk, I disavow it
With badinage divine;
So dazzled, I mistake you
For a speaking mime.

A pleader, a dissembler,
An epicure, a thief,—
Betimes an oratorio,
An ecstasy in chief;

Invader of parties,
I cheat as I enchant
Of an entire attar
For my decamping wants.

The splendor of a Burmah,
A meteor of girls,
I’m lurching like an elephant
That slips on fallen pearls.

I never thought that Jason sought
For any golden fleece;
But then I am a rural lady,
With thoughts made for caprice.

But if there were a Jason,
Tradition suffer me
Behold his lost emolument:
Me asleep ’neath tree.

—

The actual version, about an oriole. I’ve left an unaltered stanza above.