The shadow of that dome of treasure

Floated midway on the wave.

(See Castaigne's drawings—they're a pleasure—

In the May Century pictured brave.)

It was a miracle of rare device,

Costing "a pile," but cheap at any price!

A damsel with a five-stringed "Jo"

In a vision once I saw;

It was an Alabama maid,

And on her banjo light she played,

Singing of sweet Su-san-nah!

Could I revive within me

Amphion's lyric song,

To such a deep delight 'twould win me

As the music loud and long

That sure did raise this dome in air,

That mighty dome!—those halls of price!

Columbia's magic set them there,

And all who see cry, "Rare! O rare!

This beats great Kubla Khan's device!

Chicago outsoars Xanadu!

Columbia's World's Fair here on view

Eclipses Shedad's Paradise!"

There, Madam! The British Ambassador, Punch,

Has borrowed the lyre of the Opium-eater

To praise your unparalleled feat! By his hunch

'Twould tax that great master of magic and metre

To do it full justice. To paint such a vision

The limner need call on the aid of the Poppy.

It is a Big Blend of the Truly Elysian,

And (you'll comprehend!) the Colossally Shoppy!

Mix Haroun Alraschid with Mr. McKinley,

And Yellowstone Park with a Persian Bazaar,

And then the ensemble is sketched in but thinly.

For brush and for pen 'tis too mighty by far.

The fragment of Coleridge hinted at wonders

His Dream might have shown, had it ever been finished.

Columbia, I bear o'er the ocean that sunders

But cannot un-kin us, the love undiminished

Of all whom I speak for—that's England all over—

Here's luck, in a bumper, to you and your Show!

Ambassador Punch, your Admirer and Lover,

Believes the World's Fair will turn out a Great Go!