Always the August evenings come
With preparation for the waltz
The hot verandah making room
For all the reminiscent tunes
— The Merry Widow and the rest— 

That call, recall
So many nights and afternoons—
August, with all its faults!

And the waltzes turn, return;
The Chocolate Soldier assaults
The tired Sphinx of the physical.
What answer? We cannot discern.

And the waltzes turn, return,
Float and fall,
Like the cigarettes
Of our marionettes
Inconsequent, intolerable.