Shapes of Clay - читать онлайн бесплатно полную версию книги . Страница 27

MAD.

O ye who push and fight To hear a wanton sing— Who utter the delight That has the bogus ring,— O men mature in years, In understanding young, The membranes of whose ears She tickles with her tongue,— O wives and daughters sweet, Who call it love of art To kiss a woman's feet That crush a woman's heart,— O prudent dams and sires, Your docile young who bring To see how man admires A sinner if she sing,— O husbands who impart To each assenting spouse The lesson that shall start The buds upon your brows,— All whose applauding hands Assist to rear the fame That throws o'er all the lands The shadow of its shame,— Go drag her car!—the mud Through which its axle rolls Is partly human blood And partly human souls. Mad, mad!—your senses whirl Like devils dancing free, Because a strolling girl Can hold the note high C. For this the avenging rod Of Heaven ye dare defy, And tear the law that God Thundered from Sinai!