XXV

3 0 00

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.