IN AN AUCTION ROOM

How about this lot? said the auctioneer;

One hundred, may I say, just for a start?

Between the plum-red curtains, drawn apart,

A written sheet was held.... And strange to hear

( Dealer, would I were steadfast as thou art )

The cold quick bids. ( Against you in the rear! )

The crimson salon, in a glow more clear

Burned bloodlike purple as the poet's heart.

Song that outgrew the singer! Bitter Love

That broke the proud hot heart it held in thrall;

Poor script, where still those tragic passions move —

Eight hundred bid: fair warning: the last call:

The soul of Adonais, like a star....

Sold for eight hundred dollars — Doctor R.!