Page:The Dial (Volume 69).djvu/681

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MALGRE LUI


BY OSBERT SITWELL


The voices weave a web of futile sound; A fan is dropped by Lady Carabas; Restored to her; but Mrs Kinfoot frowned, Guarding the door, as Cerberus his pass.


But suddenly great waves of sound obtrude Upon the pleasant party in this room;

While we enjoy the music's interlude, Outside there swells the trumpet call of doom.


Mosaic tombs or unmarked graves—asunder They all are rent. King Dodon from the dead Arises; while the quivering heavens thunder, He smoothes his robe, and calmly shakes his head


Free of the ages' dust; but now the voices

Of those condemned (for judgement will not tarry) Shrill out in woe; but one, alone, rejoices,

For Mrs Kinfoot scents another quarry.


The army of the dead are on the march

To meet their Maker on His ivory throne. He sits beneath the rainbow's radiant arch, Dispensing judgement. Oh, atone, atone!


But Mrs Kinfoot saw a sailor-sinner —With one arm—leave St Paul's and walk away; And Mrs Kinfoot longed to give a dinner

"To meet the Judge upon the Judgement Day!"


Above God's Head a dozen suns kept guard Like sentinels. Her erring feet were led

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