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 Look at her! Hear her! Worship her there! As she sits at her ease in a soft arm-chair, Between the puffs of her light cigarette Tossing out melody, jet after jet, And the hearers are all agreed No tones that are touched from a harp with man's fingers, (Vide Swinburne) can vie with the music that lingers, When blown through girl's mouth by a reed, And all of us swore as we heard That her singing was truly divine, And that all the more our hearts she stirred Because of that wonderful wine.