OF HER GLORIOUS MADNESS

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!