Purple and gold wall hangings; Cigarettes, proffered, freely lit; Princely fur coats, shrugged at the door And thus left, graceless, on the floor. Resplendent bohemian Lord Of Language strides the neat threshold. Now (is he glad?) he’s talked about; Birthday banner, melding “Oscar’s Out!” One hundred and fifty seven! His youth, as yearned, has held its course: Immortal poster boy...