Here you will find the Poem Shaemus of poet Conrad Potter Aiken
We will go no more to Shaemus, at the Nip, for sly innuendo and an Oporto Flip, the rough but tender voice, the wide-mouthed grin, the steady-unsteady hand that poured the gin: memory, that flew back years to find a name, found it, and fetched it up, still just the same; the shaky footsteps, and then the shaky kidding: you, the big business man, outbid, outbidding, the mystery man, the man of deep affairs, highbrow, and playboy, and friend of millionaires: and you, the lovers, whose love was in your faces? there you were, back once more?and still the traces!? Yes, still the traces of that love he loved, and re-examined, but as if unmoved; the names fished up from time, or Singapore, joined and repeated on his bar once more; as if no let or hindrance were permitted; as if both time and space could be outwitted; endurance noted?in a protocol? and then embalmed, of course, in alcohol. And now himself, the immortal, lightly gone, as if stepped out for a quick one?who had none. And dead, his room inspected by his friends, to find a will, adjust the odds and ends; and there, the fifteen suits, the malacca cane, the hats, and spats: in which he roved again, far from the furnished room, the sacred bar, immortal dandy, towards an immortal star.
