Explore "A Voluptuary" by Ambrose Bierce on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Who's this that lispeth in the thickening throng / Which crowds to claim distinction in my song? / Fresh from "the palms and temples of the South," / The mixed aromas quarrel in his mouth: / Of orange blossoms this the lingering gale, / And that the odor of a spicy tale.
Sir, in thy pleasure-dome down by the sea / (No finer one did Kubla Khan decree) / Where, Master of the Revels, thou dost stand / With joys and mysteries on either hand, / Dost keep a poet to report the rites / And sing the tale of those Elysian nights? / Faith, sir, I'd like the place if not too young.
I'm no great bard, but -- I can hold my tongue.