For you expect in flurry cohorts
The bees to swarm out “zoo-oom, zoo-oom”
Scything the phosphorescence on this air
Of agate-carved medallions,
Where all are statuettes from Tanagra.
[1] Bother those lick-spittles!
Trumpet
The turbid air is buttered over now
With streaks of marbled stillness, as the prow
Of some deserted galleon; then I,