He paused, to let the crowd
Bellow its laughter. The unseen ironies
Had trapped him and his flock; and neither knew.
But Huxley knew. He turned, with a grim smile,
And while the opposing triumph rocked and pealed,
Struck one decisive palm upon his knee,
And muttered low—“The Lord hath delivered him
Into my hands.”
His neighbour stared and thought
His wits were wandering. Yet that undertone