  They say I'm mad because I stare And look as tho' they were not there, Because I only speak when aught Occurs to me by way of thought. Instead of serving Fashion's creeds, I cut my coat to fit my needs. I laugh at grief and only weep When noisy life disturbs my sleep. My dreams are delicate and wild; Was ever wise man so beguiled?— Mad, am I mad!—then pray that you May some day hope for madness too! |
|
