Hic Sudavit Sed Non Frustra

The girl in the apartment next door
(After assiduous practice)
Has really mastered one piece on the piano—
A rollicking, meaningless, pseudo-highbrow air,
Full of stolen cadences, synthetic harmony,
And, where the composer was doubtful,
Padded with plenty of bass chords.
Just now I came up in the elevator
With a young man.
He rang the bell of the next apartment
And was friendly welcomed in.
By the time I was in my sitting room
I heard her dashing off her piece
With spontaneous abandon.
O Confucius, O Shakespeare, O Louisa M. Alcott and Alfred Dunhill,
Will life never pull anything new?
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