That peer through the dark where we sleep in our laces,
Where we skulk among cushions in opulent places,
With indolent postures and frivolous graces.
Eyes that prick the darkness, fingers thin
Tearing at hypocrisy, and Sin
That batters the door and staggers in....
The streets surround with clamour and din,
Drowning our flutes, till the cries of the city
Flurry us, flutter us, force us to pity,
Force us to sigh and arrange a committee,