Society

LOOKED and saw a splendid pageantryOf beautiful women and of lordly men,Taking their pleasure in a flowery plain,Where poppies and the red anemone,And many another leaf of cramoisy,Flickered about their feet, and gave their stainTo heels of iron or satin, and the grainOf silken garments floating far and free,As in the dance they wove themselves, or strayedBy twos together, or lightly smiled and bowed,Or curtseyed to each other, or else playedAt games of mirth and pastime, unafraidIn their delight; and all so high and proudThey seemed scarce of the earth whereon they trod.

I looked again and saw that flowery spaceStirring, as if alive, beneath the treadThat rested now upon an old man's headAnd now upon a baby's gasping face,Or mother's bosom, or the rounded graceOf a girl's throat; and what had seemed the redOf flowers was blood, in gouts and gushes shedFrom hearts that broke under that frolic pace.And now and then from out the dreadful floorAn arm or brow was lifted from the rest,As if to strike in madness, or imploreFor mercy; and anon some suffering breastHeaved from the mass and sank; and as beforeThe revellers above them thronged and prest.