I met a plum-hued Venus late one night,

Live specimen of pure Egyptian art.

The regal amplitude of tropic zones,

Their rich luxuriance breathed on her face

And radiated from her clothed form.

Her eyes shone with that lustful brilliancy

Of eyes of jungle prowlers who at night

A-sniffling and a-growling hunt for mates.

Her mellow, soft and sing-song voice was whisp’ring

Enticing promises of untold joys

To taste of in this paradise of jet.

Alas! the curse of value, price and profit

Indelibly was branded on her brow,

The brow that ages past was of a savage.

Oh! thou hast conquered glorious Christian progress.