248
ANTONÍN KLÁŠTERSKÝ
I penned a mighty epic poem of yore,
But afterwards observed that it was naught,
And burnt it ; but with one chant I forbore,
Which was a gem of sentiment, methought.
Later, with deeper care, I read it o’er,
And quoth: “Its point in satire could be
caught!”
But now—the reader gleefully may roar—
Only an epigram, in fine. I’ve wrought.
2. OFFICIAL SOIRÉE AT PRINCE X's.
The prince bids welcome. Sombre garments mate
With flash of uniforms. All ranks are here.
Some stand in clusters, others sit in state;
Flunkeys with wine and lemonade appear . . .
Heels click and clash. See some bald baron prate
His tittle-tattle. Laughter. Some get clear
In starving pangs, some empty many a plate—
Cigars cram someone's pockets at the rear.
