The Love Boat Has Crashed Against The

If An American Is Motoring On His Own, He (the Paragon Of Morality And Chastity) Will Slow Down And Stop Beside Every Solitary Pretty Female Pedestrian, Bare His Teeth In A Big Smile, And Tempt Her Into His Car With A Wild Roll Of The Eyes. A Lady Who Fails To Appreciate His Passion Will Qualify As An Idiot Who Doesn't Realise How Lucky She Is To Have The Opportunity Of Getting To Know The Owner Of This 100-horse-power Motor Car.

They Stood Brow To Brow, Brown To White, Black To Black, He Supporting Her Elbows, She Playing Her Limp Light Fingers Over His Collarbone, And How He "ladored,"he Said, The Dark Aroma Of Her Hair Blending With Crushed Lily Stalks, Turkish Cigarettes And The Lassitude That Comes From "lass." "no, No, Don't," She Said, I Must Wash, Quick-quick, Ada Must Wash; But For Yet Another Immortal Moment They Stood Embraced In The Hushed Avenue, Enjoying As They Had Never Enjoyed Before, The "happy-forever" Feeling At The End Of Never-ending Fairy Tales.

A Line Is A Fuse That's Lit. The Line Smolders, The Rhyme Explodes— And By A Stanza A City Is Blown To Bits.

To Us Love Says Humming That The Heart's Stalled Motor Has Begun Working Again.

Were I As Quiet As Thunder, How I'd Wail And Whine! One Groan Of Mine Would Start The World's Crumbling Cloister Shivering. And If I'd End Up By Roaring With All Of Its Power Of Lungs And More - The Comets, Distressed, Would Wring Their Hands And From The Sky's Roof Leap In A Fever.