XX.

But this can't well be true, just now; for writers

Are grown of the beau monde a part potential:

I've seen them balance even the scale with fighters,

Especially when young, for that's essential.

Why do their sketches fail them as inditers

Of what they deem themselves most consequential,

The real portrait of the highest tribe?

'T is that—in fact—there's little to describe.

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