Lo! What Is This That I Make, Sudden, Supreme, Unrehearsed, This That My Clutch In The Crowd Pressed At A Venture Has Raised? Forward And Onward I Sprang When I Thought (As I Ought) I Reversed, And A Cab Like Martagon Opes And I Sit In The Wreckage Dazed. And Someone Is Taking My Name, And The Driver Is Rending The Air With Cries For My Blood And My Gold, And A Snickering News-Boy Brings My Cap, Wheel-Pashed From The Kerb. I Must Run Her Home For Repair, Where She Leers With Her Bonnet Awry, Flat On The Nether Springs!