I shall find no light clearer than thee,
O sable and sensual Sambo,
The servant of me!
I beheld thee beholding the ballet,
Dumps doleful display’d deep despair,
Thou didst think of thine own land, my valet,
The land in which nought thou didst wear.
* * * * *
O statue, us Philistines loathing,
Of Phœbus!—our tailors we fear,