THE city's mad: through her prodigious veins What errant, strange, eccentric humors thrill: Day, when her cataracts of sunlight spill -- Night, golden-panelled with her window panes; The toss of wind-blown skirts; and who can drill Forever his fierce heart with checking reins? Cruel and mad, my statisticians say -- Ah, but she raves in such a gallant way! Brave madness, built for beauty and the sun -- In such a town who can be sane? Not I. Of clashing colors all her moods are spun -- A scarlet anger and a golden cry. This frantic town where madcap mischiefs run They ask to take the veil, and be a nun! |