FIFTH AVENUE

And when discovery marred the best disguise

He winced a sigh, bowed to a spoiled deceit,

And donned the damask draperies of defeat

To woo dishonour as an enterprise.

His self-betrayal had its tenderness

And reared an outland refuge for his pride,

For all were baffled telling how he lied,

Since more than any guessed he would confess.

He died a hero in Fifth Avenue

One yellowed day saving a tattered man.

But in the litter of his passing breath

A prayer lay lest one should misconstrue.

It was an accident — and he began

A last profound apology to death.