Page:Ballads of a Bohemian.djvu/86

84 I dreamed I saw three demi-gods who in a café sat, And one was small and crapulous, and one was large and fat; And one was eaten up with vice and verminous at that.

The first he spoke of secret sins, and gems and perfumes rare; And velvet cats and courtesans voluptuously fair: “Who is the Sybarite?” I asked. They answered: “Baudelaire.”

The second talked in tapestries, by fantasy beguiled; As frail as bubbles, hard as gems, his pageantries he piled; “This Lord of Language, who is he?” They whispered “Oscar Wilde.”

The third was staring at his glass from out abysmal pain; With tears his eyes were bitten in beneath his bulbous brain. “Who is the sodden wretch?” I said. They told me: “Paul Verlaine.”

Oh, Wilde, Verlaine and Baudelaire, their lips were wet with wine; Oh poseur, pimp and libertine! Oh cynic, sot and swine!