O' the diabolic eye so soften through absinthe,
That for once, tambourine, tunic and tricot 'scape
Their customary curse "Not half the gain o' the ape!"
Ay, they go in together!
XXVI
Yet still her phantom stays
Opposite, where you stand: as steady 'neath our gaze,—
The live Elvire's and mine,—though fancy stuff and mere
Illusion; to be judged—dream-figures—without fear
Or favor, those the false, by you and me the true.