The Sphinx Of The Tuileries.

Out of the Latin Quarter         I came to the lofty door     Where the two marble Sphinxes guard         The Pavillon de Flore.     Two Cockneys stood by the gate, and one         Observed, as they turned to go,     "No wonder He likes that sort of thing, -         He's a Sphinx himself, you know."     I thought as I walked where the garden glowed         In the sunset's level fire,     Of the Charlatan whom the Frenchmen loathe         And the Cockneys all admire.     They call him a Sphinx, - it pleases him, -         And if we narrowly read,     We will find some truth in the flunkey's praise, -         The man is a Sphinx indeed.     For the Sphinx with breast of woman         And face so debonair     Had the sleek false paws of a lion,         That could furtively seize and tear.     So far to the shoulders, - but if you took         The Beast in reverse you would find     The ignoble form of a craven cur         Was all that lay behind.     She lived by giving to simple folk         A silly riddle to read,     And when they failed she drank their blood         In cruel and ravenous greed.     But at last came one who knew her word,         And she perished in pain and shame, -     This bastard Sphinx leads the same base life         And his end will be the same.     For an OEdipus-People is coming fast         With swelled feet limping on,     If they shout his true name once aloud         His false foul power is gone.     Afraid to fight and afraid to fly,         He cowers in an abject shiver;     The people will come to their own at last, -         God is not mocked for ever.