For other versions of this work, see Mr. Apollinax.
Mr. Apollinax
When Mr. Apollinax visited the United StatesHis laughter tinkled among the teacups.I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the birch-trees,And of Priapus in the shrubberyGaping at the lady in the swing.In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor Channing-Cheetah'sHe laughed like an irresponsible fœtus.His laughter was submarine and profoundLike the old man of the sea'sHidden under coral islandsWhere worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence,Dropping from fingers of surf.I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chairOr grinning over a screenWith seaweed in its hair.I heard the beat of centaur's hoofs over the hard turfAs his dry and passionate talk devoured the afternoon."He is a charming man"—"But after all what did he mean?"—His pointed ears . . . He must be unbalanced,"— "There was something he said that I might have challenged."Of dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. CheetahI remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.