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.