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!