When Mr. Apollinax visited the United States <br />His laughter tinkled among the teacups. <br />I thought of Fragilion, that shy figure among the birch-trees, <br />And of Priapus in the shrubbery <br />Gaping at the lady in the swing. <br />In the palace of Mrs. Phlaccus, at Professor Channing-Cheetah's <br />He laughed like an irresponsible foetus. <br />His laughter was submarine and profound <br />Like the old man of the sea's <br />Hidden under coral islands <br />Where worried bodies of drowned men drift down in the green silence, <br />Dropping from fingers of surf. <br />I looked for the head of Mr. Apollinax rolling under a chair <br /> <br />Or grinning over a screen <br />With seaweed in its hair. <br />I heard the beat of centaur's hoofs over the hard turf <br />As his dry and passionate talk devoured the afternoon. <br />"He is a charming man"—"But after all what did he mean?"— <br />"His pointed ears.... He must be unbalanced,"— <br />"There was something he said that I might have challenged." <br />Of dowager Mrs. Phlaccus, and Professor and Mrs. Cheetah <br />I remember a slice of lemon, and a bitten macaroon.<br /><br />Thomas Stearns Eliot<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/mr-apollinax/
