We, too, had known golden
When body and soul were in tune,
Had danced with our true
By the light of a full moon,
And sat with the wise and
As tongues grew witty and
Over some noble
Out of Escoffier;
Had felt the intrusive
Which tears reserve apart,
And would in the old grand
Have sung from a resonant heart.
But, pawed-at and
By the promiscuous crowd,
Concocted by
Into spells to befuddle the crowd,
All words like Peace and Love,
All sane affirmative speech,
Had been soiled, profaned,
To a horrid mechanical screech.
No civil style
That
But the wry, the sotto-voce,
Ironic and monochrome:
And where should we find
For joy or mere
When little was left standing But the suburb of dissent?
