Over the moonless land of Bathrolaire Rises at night, when revelry begins, A white unreal orb, a sun that spins, A sun that watches with a sullen stare That dance spasmodic they are dancing there, Whilst drone and cry and drone of violins Hint at the sweetness of forgotten sins, Or call the devotees of shame to prayer.

And all the spaces of the midnight town Ring with appeal and sorrowful abuse.

There some most lonely are: some try to crown Mad lovers with sad boughs of formal yews, And Titan women wandering up and down Lead on the pale fanatics of the muse.