But at last, some long months later--'twas a dinner I was at
In the City--"Bring me, waiter," someone said, "some more green fat."
'Twas my _vis-a-vis_ was speaking, and an Alderman was he;
On his radiant face, and reeking, was the hope of joy to be.
He had all that lost expression, every detail showing plain,
Soulfulness, hope of possession, joy, intensity, disdain.
Then I sought to make him merry, and I plied him with old port,
Claret, burgundy, Bass, sherry, and a little something short;
And this guzzler, by me aided, kept on soaking all the while,
Till that lost expression faded to an idiotic smile,
And his speech grew thick and thicker, and his mind began to roam,
Till he finished off his liquor and I drove him to my home.
There with coils of rope I strapped him to my sofa, firm and fast,
Douched him, doused him, bled and tapped him, till I sobered him at
last,
To that lost expression led him--that was all that I was at--
As for days and weeks I fed him on suggestions of green fat.
Thus I caught that lost expression, and I cried, "Thrice happy day!
Once again 'tis my possession." Then I turned and fled away.
Without swerving or digression to my Dora straight I sped,
And she gazed at that expression, then she clapped her hands and
said--
"You have found it--who'd have thought it?--you have brought it me
again!"
"Yes!" I cried, "and as I've brought it, make me happiest of men.
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