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The Tourist Board of Xanadu

Did recently impose a fee

On those who travel far from home

To visit Kubla’s pleasure dome

Of $20, 9 – 3

So twice five miles of fertile ground

With fence and wire are girdled round

And signs proclaiming “ENTRY AT THE GATE”

Where gather many a camera-bearing crowd

And here are docents, who in solemn state

Explain the Mongol histories aloud

But oh! That deep romantic chasm protracting

Into a hill, athwart a cedarn cover

A savage region, visitors attracting

By actresses, forever reenacting

A woman wailing to her demon-lover

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil spilling

Crowds of old men in fat thick pants are milling

And there, a fountain momently is forced:

Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst

Groups of eight to ten people, screaming ever

White-water-raft upon the sacred river

Five miles continuing to a crashing climax

Through wood and dale the sacred waters run;

I didn’t think this part was too much fun,

So skip the crowds, and head down to the IMAX,

Where in surround-sound, you can hear from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war!

The shadow of the dome of pleasure

Stands reflected in the mere;

Take some photos there to treasure

As a special souvenir

It is a miracle of rare device:

A tourist trap, but also pretty nice.

A damsel with a dulcimer

In a vision once I saw:

It was an Abyssinian maid

And on her dulcimer she played,

Singing of Mount Abora.

Could I revive within me

Her symphony and song,

To such a deep delight ’twould win me,

That with music loud and long,

I would build that dome in air

That sunny dome! those caves of ice!

And all who heard should see them there,

And all should cry, Beware! Beware!

His flashing eyes! His floating hair!

Hide the sight from eyes profane,

And weave a circle round him thrice

For he hath tasted Paradise,

5/5, would taste again.