Wear a lure fantastical,
Farthingales of Spring,
Till the out-worn city hearts
Dance for you and sing.
Lime us with grotesque desires,
Warm with green and gold;
Apathetic we have grown,
Tired and hard and old.
Draw us gently to your truth,
Calm our hopes and fears;
Till at last the grass blades speak
To attentive ears.