Harriet Monroe, ed. (1860–1936). The New Poetry: An Anthology. 1917.

Further Instructions

COME, my songs, let us express our baser passions.

Let us express our envy for the man with a steady job and no worry about the future.

You are very idle, my songs;

I fear you will come to a bad end.

You stand about the streets. You loiter at the corners and bus-stops,

You do next to nothing at all.

You do not even express our inner nobility;

You will come to a very bad end.

And I? I have gone half cracked.

I have talked to you so much that I almost see you about me,

Insolent little beasts! Shameless! Devoid of clothing!

But you, newest song of the lot,

You are not old enough to have done much mischief.

I will get you a green coat out of China

With dragons worked upon it.

I will get you the scarlet silk trousers

From the statue of the infant Christ at Santa Maria Novella;

Lest they say we are lacking in taste,

Or that there is no caste in this family.