Humoresque

One of my marionettes is dead
Though not yet tired of the game⁠—
But weak in body as in head,
(A jumping-jack has such a frame).

But this deceasèd marionette
I rather liked: a common face,
(The kind of face that we forget)
Pinched in a comic, dull grimace;

Half bullying, half imploring air,
Mouth twisted to the latest tune;
His who-the-devil-are-you stare;
Translated, maybe, to the moon.

With Limbo’s other useless things
Haranguing spectres, set him there;
“The snappiest fashion since last spring’s,
“The newest style, on Earth, I swear.

“Why don’t you people get some class?
(Feebly contemptuous of nose),
“Your damned thin moonlight, worse than gas⁠—
“Now in New York”⁠—and so it goes.

Logic a marionette’s, all wrong
Of premises; yet in some star
A hero!⁠—Where would he belong?
But, even at that, what mask bizarre!