XXV
Behold Sabouroff, whom the age
For baseness of the spirit scorns,
Saint Priest, who every album’s page
With blunted pencil-point adorns.
Another tribune of the ball
Hung like a print against the wall,
Pink as Palm Sunday cherubim,
Motionless, mute, tight-laced and trim.
The traveller, bird of passage he,
Stiff, overstarched and insolent,
Awakens secret merriment
By his embarrassed dignity—
Mute glances interchanged aside
Meet punishment for him provide.