That virtue seems sworn foe of.
"Languidly circumvolving, lounging lank,
In scuffling circle or in mural rank,
Of misery mechanic
They look the wooden symbols; nought to show
That even well-starched linen's sheeny snow
Veils impulses volcanic.
"That straight-limb'd son of Anak circling there
Much like a whirling semaphore, strange care
His boyish forehead wrinkling?