I Sit On A White Wood Box Smeared With The Black Name Of A Seller Of White Sugar. The Little Brown Table Is So Dirty That If I Had Food I Do Not Think I Could Eat. How Can I Promise Violets Drunken In Wine For Your Amusement, How Can I Powder Your Blue Cotton Dress With Splinters Of Emerald, How Can I Sing You Songs Of The Amber Pear, Or Pour For The Finger-Tips Of Your White Fingers Mingled Scents In A Rose Agate Bowl? From The Chinese Of J. Wing (Nineteenth Century).