O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,

Give me in due time, I beseech you, a little tobacco-shop,

With the bright little boxes

piled up neatly on the shelves

And the loose, fragrant cavendish

and the shag,

And the bright Virginia

loose under the bright glass cases,

And a pair of scales not too greasy,

And the whores dropping in for a word or two in passing,

For a flip word, and to tidy their hair a bit.

O God, O Venus, O Mercury, patron of thieves,

Lend me a little tobacco-shop,

or install me in any profession

Save this damn'd profession of writing

where one needs one's brains all the time.

--Ezra Pound, after Yeats