33
Here Sèvres, here real Japan, your notice claims;
A modern stove, in which dance tinsel flames;
A gallery of portraits, frames and all,
Painted with taste direct upon the wall:
And in the midst, in full imperial state,
King Hanuman upon a throne reposes
In the bright raiment luckless Lear of late
Raved in; the crown half o’er his ears and nose is—
Being somewhat large; but what of that? his right hand
Grasps the gold lily-sceptre, type of might and
Justice; and on his lap th’ imperial ball is
With which his left hand languidly just dallies.
A rostrum bears the statutes of the realm,—
They’re scores and actors’ parts—as actors spell ’em,
Old love letters, musk-scented, and cream-laid ones;
And tailors’ bills—in general, unpaid ones.
And would the prince to rooms yet more resplendent,
He just signs with his sceptre to the attendant—
No more—and says: “Ho! throne room!” for example.
Lo! swarms of servants clutch at every angle,
Detach the walls, return with walls more ample,
Wheel, fit them: high and low the hammers jangle,
And presto! as by wizard’s wand enchanted,
The wished-for hall around the king is planted.
Thus, without need to stir a foot, he changes
Hall after hall, and which of all the range is
The loveliest, who can say? as though one dallies
In fairy-land within a spell-bound palace.
And passing rich his robes, to fit his station,
He’s always at it, stripping and unstripping:
His pearl-sewn chasuble, pre-Reformation,
Succumbs to Louis Quinze, and now he’s slipping
