Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/327

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 * His purple vest, that ever peeping was
 * Rich from the fluttering crimson of his cloak,
 * His silvery trousers, and his silken sash
 * Tied in a burnish'd knot, their semblance took

Upon the mirror'd walls, wherever he might look.


 * And seeing his white teeth, he smiled the more;
 * Lifted his eyebrows, spurn'd the path beneath,
 * Show'd teeth again, and smiled as heretofore,
 * Until he knock'd at the magician's door;
 * Where, till the porter answer'd, might be seen,
 * In the clear panel more he could adore,—
 * His turban wreath'd of gold, and white, and green,

Mustaches, ear-ring, nose-ring, and his sabre keen.


 * Quoth the dark page; "Oh, no!" return'd the Swiss,
 * "Next door but one to us, upon the right,
 * The Magazin des Modes now open is
 * Against the Emperor's wedding;—and sir, this
 * My master finds a monstrous horrid bore;
 * As he retired, an hour ago I wis,
 * With his best beard and brimstone, to explore

And cast a quiet figure in his second floor.


 * For chalk, I hear, stands at a pretty price;