The crimson salon, in a glow more clear,
Burned bloodlike purple as the poet’s heart.
Song that outgrew the singer! Bitter Love
That broke the proud hot heart it held in thrall,
Poor script, where still those tragic passions move—
Eight hundred bid: fair warning: the last call:
The soul of Adonais, like a star,
Sold for eight hundred dollars—Doctor R.!
Christopher Morley
