CHESTNUT STREET is dark and gloomy 11:30 p. m. But from an upper window Comes the insane ecstasy of jazz. Cling-cling of little bells, Rattle of drums, Tick-tock of the gourds, Crash of cymbals, Wail of violins on the placid night. Life is tragic; Life is damnable; But I do a little scamper of my own There on the pavement. |