| Louis Untermeyer, ed. (1885–1977). Modern British Poetry. 1920. |
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| Ernest Dowson. 1867–1900 |
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| 56. To One in Bedlam |
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| WITH delicate, mad hands, behind his sordid bars, | |
| Surely he hath his posies, which they tear and twine; | |
| Those scentless wisps of straw that, miserable, line | |
| His strait, caged universe, whereat the dull world stares. | |
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| Pedant and pitiful. O, how his rapt gaze wars | 5 |
| With their stupidity! Know they what dreams divine | |
| Lift his long, laughing reveries like enchanted wine, | |
| And make his melancholy germane to the stars'? | |
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| O lamentable brother! if those pity thee, | |
| Am I not fain of all thy lone eyes promise me; | 10 |
| Half a fool's kingdom, far from men who sow and reap, | |
| All their days, vanity? Better then mortal flowers, | |
| Thy moon-kissed roses seem: better than love or sleep, | |
| The star-crowned solitude of thine oblivious hours! | |
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