For the songs that you lured us to love with 
Are chains of a decadent art ; 
And the chants that availed us to shove with 
Are those of a fart. 
 
O legs like the legs of the Saviour ! 
O feet !  O, immutable toes ! 
O mute and impressive behaviour 
Of thy stallion aquiline nose ! 
O eyes not of lust but of languor ! 
O lips not of flesh but of paint ! 
Bite hard, though of course not in anger, 
O, Stephane, saint ! 
 
When the stars of the heaven arc bust up, 
And the earth tails away from the sun ; 
Thou wilt still be as ready to thrust up 
Thy penis, till penes are done : 
And the boys that come northward from Naples 
Together shall cling and to thee. 
If ye cannot ape heaven, ye can ape hells. 
And so can the sea. 
 
O foolish and hideous hucksters 
That linger by bubbie and quim ! 
Your days are ridiculous fucksters 
Are drawn into twilight, and dim. 
For in spite of the Virgin her limp son 
We are tinged with the sodomite’s taint : 
All owing to thee, Mr Jimson, 
O, Stephane, Saint ! 
 
 
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