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The following is from Chapter III. of the "AEsthetics" in the Cornell Era:

"I, Whit Waltman, whoop it up about Oscar Wilde.

Now see here, Oscar Wilde, you sing trash of the blankest-blank kind, and I know it.

I sing the delightful odor of he-goats and farmyards.

I, the apostle of the real and the sensual, lie on the grass and kick up;

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I loaf and I flop.

Your poetry is even thinner than mine.

Yawp!

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