WELL, IT'S QUEER.
We look in our madness,
And we say, half in sadness,
"Who will shiver the idols we cherish?
The greed of the people
Becomes a high steeple,
Which, in climbing, the nation will perish."
And we say, half in sadness,
"Who will shiver the idols we cherish?
The greed of the people
Becomes a high steeple,
Which, in climbing, the nation will perish."
A thin voice speaks lowly—
Slowly, ah! slowly,
Thin as the owlet that screeches,
We, when we drop frock,
Chemises, and smock,
And stalk forth in masculine breeches."
Slowly, ah! slowly,
Thin as the owlet that screeches,
We, when we drop frock,
Chemises, and smock,
And stalk forth in masculine breeches."
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