BANZAI!
THERE leapt upon a breach and laughed
A royally maniac man.
A bitter craft
Is mine, he saith,
O soldiers of Japan !
I am the brothel-knave of death,
The grimly courtesan.
Now who will up and kiss her lips,
Or grip her breast and bone?
The subtle life she shears and snips
Is harder gained than gone;
The lover’s laughter whom she clips
Is but a dying groan.
She lieth not on a gilded bed
In the city without the city.
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