The Emperor of Ice-Cream

    Call the roller of big cigars，

    The muscular one， and bid him whip

    In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.

    Let the wenches dawdle in such dress

    As they are used to wear， and let the boys

    Bring flowers in last month's newspapers.

    Let be be finale of seem.

    The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

    Take from the dresser of deal.

    Lacking the three glass knobs， that sheet

    On which she embroidered fantails once

    And spread it so as to cover her face.

    If her horny feet protrude， they come

    To show how cold she is， and dumb.

    Let the lamp affix its beam.

    The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.