At night on the radiant Rialto
   By the stars in their houses of glass,
I strolled with my soul in my pocket
   And prayed that my night might not pass; 
I have seen 'neath the high heels of Beauty
   My heart and my soul and my shame; 
That form! O, how often it lured me, 
   And how often I lost in the game! 

And how often I walked in the shadow 
   Of a Laila a mile and a mile! 
But the rapture and bliss of a vision
   Would end in a great gush of bile. 
To the hints that her garment would whisper 
    I have listened but I would not dare; 
I have seen every one of my fancies 
   Retreat in the dark of her hair. 

I have wished that each building around us 
   Was a cedar, a poplar, a pine; 
That the men and the women were statues, 
   And the rain that was falling was wine; 
That the lights were ethereal flowers; 
   That the cars were the nooks in the wood,—

"O, enough!" she exclaimed as she kissed me, 
    "This attic and couch are as good."