IN THE VICES

Gay and audacious crime glints in his eyes,

And his mad talk, raping the commonplace,

Gleefully runs a devil-praising race,

And none can ever follow where he flies.

He streaks himself with vices tenderly;

He cradles sin, and with a figleaf fan

Taps his green cat, watching a bored sun span

The wasted minutes to eternity.

Once I took up his trail along the dark,

Wishful to track him to the witches’ flame,

To see the bubbling of the sneer and snare.

The way led through a fragrant starlit park,

And soon upon a harlot's house I came —

Within I found him playing at solitaire!