Page:Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse by Paul Selver.djvu/272

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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. 



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. 