When Little Claus meets Big Claus in the road
The shadow dwarfs him, and he sidles by;
Then, recollecting later, thinks—“Of course!
For he was further from the light than I.”
Alone on mountains, in the Underground,
He folds his arms, is set apart, secure;
Watching the animals at play, he feels
Aesthetic pleasure, sublimated, pure.
At restaurants, disarmed by violins,
Sometimes the soul is jostled, and he stares;
Lowers the glances to the saucer, but
Through finger-chinks the sentiment declares.
Artistic temperament revolts, divines
A Circe. He congratulates himself;
Indulges in approved embraces now,
His own physician to his mental health.
— “So Absalom was lifted from his horse,
Hung by his dead hair from the swaying bough,
While David wept—” Speech slept in Babylon,
But handcuffs clanked “What price pricked bladders now?”