O come to me at two today,
Harcourt, come to me!
And show me how my dark room may
Illuminated be.
Though gondolas may lightly glide,
For me, unless you come,
No friend remains but cyanide
Of pale potassium!
Though maidens sing sweet barcaroles
(Whatever they may be)
To captivate Lee’s-Readers’ souls,
Yet, Harcourt, come to me!
Yes, come to me at two today,
Or else at two tomorrow,
Nor leave thy friend to pine away
In photographic sorrow!