WHEN Mr. Apollinax visited the United States His laughter tinkled among the teacups. I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the birch-trees, And of Priapus in the shrubbery Gaping at the lady in the swing. In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor Channing-Cheetahâ€™s He laughed like an irresponsible foetus. His laughter was submarine and profound Like the old man of the seaâ€™s Hidden under coral islands Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence, Dropping from fingers of surf. I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chair
Or grinning over a screen With seaweed in its hair. I heard the beat of centaurâ€™s hoofs over the hard turf As his dry and passionate talk devoured the afternoon. â€œHe is a charming manâ€â€”â€œBut after all what did he mean?â€â€” â€œHis pointed ears... He must be unbalanced,â€â€” â€œThere was something he said that I might have challenged.â€ Of dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah I remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.