Page:Poetry, a magazine of verse, Volume 7 (October 1915-March 1916).djvu/250

POETRY: A Magazine of Verse Lee, of Kentucky, with his Pan's bold eyes,
 * And Neville Denzil Whyte.

"Petite Marmotte,” and "Drôle," and "Bon Sujet,"—
 * He's handy with his phrase,

The while he masks his horror at a misapplied
 * Sauce Béarnaise.

He supervises with a noble air
 * The ignorant's menu:

The little mademoiselle from Maine?—"Mais oui,
 * Red wine and pot-au-feu."

Some twenty years ago he boiled the mash
 * For pigs, in rough Savoy,

Crumbling the black bread from his hairy hand—
 * A peasant boy.

Belloy, that Beaux-Arts chap who dines alone,
 * Saw once the ancestral stock,

The father of Eugene, glued to the soil
 * As lichen to its rock.

Eugene had bought him with his hoarded sous
 * The Auberge d'Or at Gex;

The old man to his neghborsneighbors [sic] brags of 'Gene,
 * Their simple souls to vex—

How since he took the Grand' route years agone,
 * A lord he is become, "Englees he spig."

So saying, flourishes in their awed faces,
 * His broom of twig.