The acid tongue with gourmet's expertise
Through snobbish growing round her hemline zone
The understanding critic firstly sees
The thumb- and finger-prints of Al Capone
To one sweet hour of bliss my memory clings
When flame a form to wrath ancestral gave
Such merchandise a melancholy brings
For burning bushes never fish forgave
Emboggled minds may puff and blow and guess
A bird-brain banquet melts bold Mistress Mog
Socrates watched his hemlock effervesce
No need to cart such treasures from the fog
And let you off from your opinions glum
The best of all things to an end must come