Of fat bejewelled goddesses, or gods
Frock-coated, undismayed by prayers and tears,
Their hats atilt like halos on their heads....
I love the ribald multi-coloured crowd,
Its radiant loves, and laughters, all the faces
That are as songs, as flowers, as hovering stardust....
I love the memory-crusted taverns
In which my heart has leapt to a fiddler's tune
Until the dawn,
Like a white minstrel stopped to sing