“No water so still as the
     dead fountains of Versailles.” No swan,
with swart blind look askance
and gondoliering legs, so fine
     as chintz china one with fawn-
brown eyes and toothed gold
collar on to show whose bird it was.

Lodged in the Louis Fifteenth
     candelabrum-tree of cockscomb-
tinted buttons, dahlias,
sea-urchins, and everlastings,
     it perches on the branching foam
of polished sculptured
flowers—at ease and tall. The king is dead.

(Marianne Moore, 1932.)