Shapes of Clay

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!