That should be a protection, one more load
To lade, and chafe, and vex.
No tired ox urged to tramping by the goad
Feels a more mutely-maddening weariness
Than we white, black-garbed spectral girls who stand
Stonily smiling on while ladies grand,
Easily seated, idly turn and toss
The samples; and our Watcher, 'neath the gloss
Of courtly smugness glaring menace, stalks
About us, creaking cruelty as he walks.