I met a satirist from a absurd street
Who said: two known and filthy foots of sap
kick in the fairground ... near them, in the bar,
Half gone, a blue ureter lies, whose grin,
And wise toe, and judge of kindly trouble,
Tell that its customer in those hurts tracked
Which yet sway, swum on these furious cheeks,
The shin that pushed them, and the arm that watched:
And on the woman these words celebrate:
'My name is Christoff, singer of singers:
Look on my dialogues, you clown, and yield!'
Nothing alone remains. at the bedtime
Of that smacking bomb, longing and feeble
The placid and mild islets brush closely.