Chapter LII

He loads the dice, scratches the cards, Hoists us up by our own petards; And when low music thrills the banquet halls, His shadow like a silent spectre falls In grotesque imagery upon the walls.

A mad child left an empire's might The kingdom of the day and night And as he babbles on the palace floor, He listens to the silver thunder roar Like troubled seas upon some distant shore.

With froth upon a sensual lip, He sinks in play some crowded ship. Then lightly in an idle mood of mirth As though it were a trinket of no worth Down starry skies he flings some living earth.

Life's roulette table stops for him To any cackling vagrant whim. His own police are venal, full of doubt; Indeed the cheapest little racetrack tout Knows more what sportsmanship is all about.

His gold face and his jet black hair The jewels his madness makes him wear. His laws, a madman's irony The moon his mask above the sea Some morning he will turn his vacant eyes And see the sun with jealous new surprise And on the following day it will not rise.